I'Kl-.SI    N  I  Kl>    TO    Till-. 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 


C.  P.  HUNTINGTON 

1    Nn    r /?/)// 


£2 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE 


OTHER  STORIES  AND  POEMS, 


BY 

MRS.  FRANCES  FULLER  VICTOR. 


SAN  FRANCISCO  : 
A.  L.  BANCROFT   &   COMPANY,  PRINTERS. 

1877. 


Copyright,  1877,  by 
MRS.  FRANCES  FULLER  VICTOR. 


PREFACE. 


THIS  collection  consists  of  sketches  of  Pacific  Coast  life,  most  of 
which  have  appeared,  from  time  tc^titne,  in  the  Overland  Monthly, 
and  other  Western  magazines.  If  they  have  a  merit,  it  is  because  they 
picture  scenes  and  characters  having  the  charm  of  newness  and  origi 
nality,  such  as  belong  to  border  life. 

The  poems  embraced  in  the  collection,  have  been  written  at  all 
periods  of  my  life,  and  therefore  cannot  be  called  peculiarly  Western. 
But  they  embody  feelings  and  emotions  common  to  all  hearts,  East  or 
West;  and  as  such,  I  dedicate  them  to  my  friends  on  the  Pacific  Coast, 
but  most  especially  in  Oregon. 

PORTLAND,  AUGUST,  1877. 


CONTENTS. 


STORIES. 

PAGE 

THE  NEW  PENELOPE 9 

A  CURIOUS  INTERVIEW 80 

MR.  ELA'S  STORY 96 

ON  THE  SANDS 112 

AN  OLD  FOOL 132 

How  JACK  HASTINGS  SOLD  His  MINE 180 

WHAT  THEY  TOLD  ME  AT  WILSON'S  BAR 197 

MlSS   JORGENSEN 212 

SAM  RICE'S  ROMANCE 231 

EL  TESORO 247 

POEMS. 

A  PAGAN  REVERIE 269 

PASSING  BY  HELICON '-72 

LOST  AT  SEA 275 

TWAS  JUNE,  NOT  I 270 

LINES  TO  A  LUMP  OF  VIRGIN  GOLD 281 

MAGDALENA 284 

REPOSE 289 

ASPASIA 291 

A  REPRIMAND 236 

To  MRS.  -    -  297 

MOONLIGHT  MEMORIES    299 

VERSES  FOR  M .  301 


6  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

AUTUMN  ALIA  303 

PALO  SANTO 305 

A  SUMMER  DAY 306 

HE  AND  SHE 308 

0  WILD  NOVEMBER  WIND 308 

BY  THE  SEA 309 

POLK  COUNTY  HILLS 310 

WAITING 312 

PALMA 314 

MAKING  MOAN 316 

CHILDHOOD 317 

A  LITTLE  BIRD  THAT  EVERY  ONE  KNOWS 318 

WAYWARD  LOVE 319 

A  LYRIC  OF  LIFE 320 

FROM  AN  UNPUBLISHED  POEM 321 

NEVADA 324 

THE  VINE 326 

WHAT  THE  SEA  SAID  TO  ME 3-27 

HYMN 328 

Do  You  HEAR  THE  WOMEN  PRAYING? 329 

OUR  LIFE  is  TWOFOLD 331 

SOUVENIR 334 

1  ONLY  WISHED  TO  KNOW 335 

LINES  WRITTEN  IN  AN  ALBUM 335 

LOVE'S  FOOTSTEPS 336 

THE  POET'S  MINISTERS 336 

SUNSET  AT  THE  MOUTH  OF  THE  COLUMBIA 340 

THE  PASSING  OF  THE  YEAR .342 


STORIES. 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE  AND  OTHER  STORIES 
AND  POEMS. 


THE    NEW    PENELOPE. 

I  MAY  as  well  avow  myself  in  the  beginning  of  my  story  as 
that  anomalous  creature — a  woman  who  loves  her  own 
sex,  and  naturally  inclines  to  the  study  of  their  individual 
peculiarities  and  histories,  in  order  to  get  at  their  collective 
qualities.  If  I  were  to  lay  before  the  reader  all  the  good 
and  bad  I  know  about  them  by  actual  discovery,  and  all  the 
mean,  and  heroig,  attributes  this  habit  I  have  of  studying 
people  has  revealed  to  me,  I  should  meet  with  incredulity, 
perhaps  with  opprobrium.  However  that  may  be,  I  have 
derived  great  enjoyment  from  having  been  made  the  recip 
ient  of  the  confidences  of  many  women,  and  by  learning 
therefrom  to  respect  the  moral  greatness  that  is  so  often 
coupled  with  delicate  physical  structure,  and  almost  perfect 
social  helplessness.  Pioneer  life  brings  to  light  striking 
characteristics  in  a  remarkable  manner;  because,  in  the  ab- 
sense  of  conventionalities  and  in  the  presence  of  absolute 
and  imminent  necessities,  all  real  qualities  come  to  the  sur 
face  as  they  never  would  have  done  under  different  circum 
stances.  In  the  early  life  of  the  Greeks,  Homer  found  his 
Penelope;  in  the  pioneer  days  of  the  Pacific  Coast,  I  dis 
covered  mine. 

My  wanderings,  up  and  down  among  the  majestic  mount- 


10  THE  NEW  PENELOPE. 

ains  and  the  sunny  valleys  of  California  and  Oregon,  Lad 
made  me  acquainted  with  many  persons,  some  of  whom 
were  to  me,  from  the  interest  they  inspired  me  with,  like 
the  friends  of  my  girlhood.  Among  this  select  number  was 
Mrs.  Anna  Greyfield,  at  whose  home  among  the  foot-hills 
of  the  Sierras  in  Northern  California,  I  had  spent  one  of 
the  most  delightful  summers  of  my  life.  Intellectual  and 
intelligent  without  being  learned  or  particularly  bookish; 
quick  in  her  perceptions  and  nearly  faultless  in  her  judg 
ment  of  others;  broadly  charitable,  not  through  any  laxity 
of  principle  on  her  own  part,  but  through  knowledge  of 
the  stumbling-blocks  of  which  the  world  is  full  for  the  un 
wary,  she  was  a  constant  surprise  and  pleasure  to  me. 
For,  among  the  vices  of  women  I  had  long  counted  unchar- 
itableness;  and  among  their  disadvantages  want  of  actual 
knowledge  of  things — the  latter  accounting  for  the  former. 

I  had  several  times  heard  it  mentioned  that  Mrs.  Grey- 
field  had  been  twice  married;  and  as  her  son  Beiiton  was 
also  called  Greyfield,  I  presumed  that  he  was  the  son  of  the 
second  marriage.  How  I  found  out  differently  I  am  about 
to  relate. 

One  rainy  winter  evening,  on  the  occasion  of  my  second 
visit  to  this  friend,  we  were  sitting  alone  before  a  bright 
wood  fire  in  an  open  fireplace,  when  we  chanced  to  refer  to 
the  subject  of  her  son's  personal  qualities;  he  then  being- 
gone  on  a  visit  to  San  Francisco,  and  of  course  veiy  con 
stantly  in  his  mother's  thoughts,  as  only  sons  are  sure  to  be. 

"Bentoii  is  just  like  his  father,"  she  said.  "  He  is  self- 
possessed  and  full  of  expedients,  but  he  says  very  little.  I 
have  often  wished  he  conversed  more  readily,  for  I  admire 
a  good  talker." 

"And  yet  did  not  marry  one: — the  common  lot!" 

Mrs.  Greyfield  smiled,  and  gazed  into  the  fire,  whose 
pleasant  radiance  filled  the  room,  bringing  out  the  soft 
warm  colors  in  the  carpet,  and  making  fantastic  shadows  of 
our  easy-chairs  and  ourselves  upon  the  wall. 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  11 

"Mr.  Greyfield  *was  your  second  husband?"  I  said,  in 
an  inquiring  tone,  but  without  expecting  to  be  contra 
dicted. 

"Mr.  Grey  field  was  ray  first,  last,  and  only  husband," 
she  replied,  with  a  touch  of  asperity,  yet  not  as  if  she  meant 
it  for  me. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  I  hastened  to  explain:  "but  I  had 
been  told — 

"Yes,  I  can  guess  what  you  have  been  told.  Very  few 
people  know  the  truth:  but  I  never  had  a  second  husband, 
though  I  was  twice  married;"  and  my  hostess  regarded  me 
with  a  smile  half  assumed  and  half  embarrassed. 

For  my  own  part,  I  was  very  much  embarrassed,  because 
I  had  certainly  been  informed  that  she  had  lived  for  a  num 
ber  of  years  with  a  second  husband  who  had  not  used  her 
well,  and  from  whom  she  was  finally  divorced.  Doubt 
her  word  I  could  not;  neither  could  I  reconcile  her  state 
ment  with  facts  apparently  well  known.  She  saw  my 
dilemma,  and,  after  a  brief  silence,  mentally  decided  to 
help  me  out  of  it.  I  could  see  that,  in  the  gradual  relaxing 
of  certain  muscles  of  her  face,  which  had  contracted  at  the 
first  reference  to  this — as  I  could  not  doubt — painful  sub 
ject.  Straightening  her  fine  form  as  if  ease  of  position 
was  not  compatible  with  what  was  in  her  mind,  she  grasped 
the  arms  of  her  chair  with  either  hand,  and  looking  with  a 
retrospective  gaze  into  the  fire,  began: 

"  You  see  it  was  this  way:  the  man  I  married  the  second 
time  had  another  wife." 

"While  she  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  made  a  momentary 
pause,  I  seemed  to  take  it  all  in,  for  I  had  heard  so  many 
stories  of  deserted  Eastern  homes,  and  subsequent  illegal 
marriages  in  California,  that  I  was  prepared  not  to  be  at 
all  surprised  at  what  I  should  learn  from  her.  Directly 
she  went  on: 

"  I  found  out  about  it  the  very  day  of  the  marriage.  We 
were  married  in  the  morning,  and  in  the  afternoon  a  man 


12  THE  NEW  PENELOPE. 

came  over  from  Vancouver  who  told  me  that  Mr.  Seabrook 
had  a  wife,  and  family  of  children,  in  a  certain  town  in 
Ohio."  Another  pause  followed,  while  she  seemed  to  be 
recalling  the  very  emotions  of  that  time. 

"  Vancouver?"  I  said:  "  that  is  on  the  Columbia  River." 
"  Yes;  I  was  living  in  Portland  at  that  time." 
In  reply  to  my  glance  of  surprise,  she  changed  the  scene 
of  her  story  to  an  earlier  date. 

"  Mr.  Greyfield  had  always  wanted  to  come  to  California, 
after  the  gold  discoveries;  but  when  he  married  me  he  agreed 
not  to  think  of  it  any  more.  I  was  very  young  and  timid, 
and  very  much  attached  to  my  childhood's  home,  and  my 
parents;  and  I  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  going  so  long 
a  distance  away  from  them.  It  was  not  then,  as  it  is  now, 
an  easy  journey  of  one  week;  bat  a  long  six  months'  pil 
grimage  through  a  wilderness  country  infested  by  Indians. 
To  reach  what  ?  another  Avilderness  infested  by  white  bar 
barians!" 

"But  I  have  always  heard,"  I  said,  "that  women  were 
idealized  and  idolized  in  those  days." 

"  That  is  a  very  pretty  fiction.  If  you  had  seen  what  I 
have  seen  on  this  coast,  you  would  not  think  we  had  been 
much  idealized.  Women  have  a  certain  value  among  men, 
when  they  can  be  useful  to  them.  In  the  old  States,  where 
every  man  has  a  home,  women  have  a  fixed  position  and 
value  in  society,  because  they  are  necessary  to  make  homes. 
But  on  this  coast,  in  early  times,  and  more  or  less  even  now, 
men  found  they  could  dispense  with  homes;  they  had  been 
converted  into  nomads,  to  whom  earth  and  sky,  a  blanket 
and  a  frying-pan,  were  sufficient  for  their  needs.  Unless 
we  came  to  them  armed  with  endurance  to  battle  with 
primeval  nature,  we  became  burdensome.  Strong  and 
coarse  women  who  could  wash  shirts  in  any  kind  of  a  tub 
out  of  doors  under  a  tree,  and  iron  them  kneeling  on  the 
ground,  to  suppprt  themselves  and  half  a  dozen  little, 
hungry  young  ones,  were  welcome  enough — before  the 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  13 

Chinamen  displaced  them.  We  had  some  value  as  cooks, 
before  men,  with  large  means,  turned  their  attention  to 
supplying  their  brothers  with  prepared  food  for  a  consider 
ation  below  what  we  could  do  with  our  limited  means.  And 
then  the  ladies,  the  educated,  refined  women,  who  followed 
their  husbands  to  this  country,  or  who  came  here  hoping 
to  share,  perchance,  in  the  golden  spoils  of  the  mines! 
Where  are  they  to-day,  and  what  is  their  condition  ?  Look 
for  them  in  the  sunless  back  rooms  of  San  Francisco  board 
ing-houses,  and  you  will  find  them  doing  a  little  fine  sew 
ing  for  the  shops;  or  working  on  their  own  garments, 
which  they  must  make  out  of  school  hours,  because  the 
niggardly  pay  of  teachers  in  the  lower  grades  will  not  al 
low  of  their  getting  them  done.  Idealized  indeed!  Men 
talk  about  our  getting  out  of  our  places  where  we  clamor 
for  paying  work  of  some  kind,  for  something  to  do  that 
will  enable  us  to  live  in  half  comfort  by  working  more 
hours  than  they  do  to  earn  lordly  livings." 

How  much  soever  I  might  have  liked  to  talk  this  labor 
question  over  with  my  intelligent  hostess  at  any  other  time, 
my  curiosity  concerning  her  own  history  having  been  so 
strongly  aroused,  the  topic  seemed  less  interesting  than 
usual,  and  I  seized  the  opportunity  given  by  an  emphasized 
pause  to  bring  her  back  to  the  original  subject. 

"Did  you  come  first  to  California?"  I  asked. 

"No.  I  had  been  married  little  overayear  when  Benton 
was  born.  'Now,'  I  thought,  'my  husband  will  be  con 
tented  to  stay  at  home.'  He  had  been  fretting  about  having 
promised  not  to  take  me  to  California;  but  I  hoped  the 
baby  would  divert  his  thoughts.  We  were  doing  well,  and 
had  a  pleasant  house,  with  everything  in  and  about  it  that 
a  young  couple  ought  to  desire.  I  deceived  myself  in  ex 
pecting  Mr.  Greyfield  to  give  up  anything  he  had  strongly 
desired  ;  and  seeing  how  much  he  brooded  over  it,  I  finally 
told  him  to  be  comforted ;  that  I  would  go  with  him  to 


14  THE  NEW  PENELOPE. 

California  if  he  would  wait  until  the  baby  was  a  year  old 
before  starting;  and  to  this  he  agreed." 

"  How  old  were  you  at  that  time?" 

"  Only  about  nineteen.  I  was  twenty  the  spring  we 
started ;  and  celebrated  my  anniversary  by  making  a  gen 
eral  gathering  of  all  my  relatives  and  friends  at  our  house, 
before  we  broke  up  and  sold  off  our  house-keeping  goods 
—all  but  such  as  could  be  carried  in  our  wagons  across  the 
plains." 

"  You  were  not  starting  by  yourselves  ?" 

"  O  no.  There  was  a  large  company  gathering  together 
on  the  Missouri  river,  to  make  the  start  in  May ;  and  we, 
with  some  of  our  neighbors,  made  ready  to  join  them.  I 
shall  never  forget  my  feelings  as  I  stood  in  my  own  house 
for  the  last  time,  taking  a  life-long  leave  of  every  familiar 
object  !  But  you  do  not  want  to  hear  about  that." 

"I  want  to  hear  what  you  choose  to  tell  me;  but  most  of 
all  about  your  second  marriage,  and  what  led  to  it." 

"  It  is  not  easy  to  go  back  so  many  years  and  take  up 
one  thread  in  the  skein  of  life,  and  follow  that  alone.  I 
will  disentangle  it  as  rapidly  as  I  can  ;  but  first  let  us  have 
a  fresh  fire." 

Suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  my  hostess  touched  a 
bell  and  ordered  a  good  supply  of  wood,  which  I  took  as 
an  intimation  that  we  were  to  have  one  of  our  late  sittings. 
In  confirmation  of  this  suspicion  a  second  order  was  given 
to  have  certain  refreshments,  including  hot  lemonade,  made 
ready  to  await  our  pleasure.  When  we  were  once  more 
alone  I  begged  her  to  go  on  with  her  story. 

"We  left  the  rendezvous  in  May,  and  traveled  without 
any  unusual  incidents  all  through  the  summer." 

"  I  beg  pardon  for  interrupting  you  ;  but  I  do  want  to 
know  how  you  endured  that  sort  of  life.  Was  it  not  ter 
rible  ?" 

"It  was  monotonous,  it  was  disagreeable,  but  it  was  not 
terrible  while  everybody  was  well.  There  were  compensa- 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  15 

tions  in  it,  as  in  almost  any  kind  of  life.  My  husband  was 
strong  and  cheerful,  now  that  he  was  having  his  own  way; 
the  baby  throve  en  fresh  air  and  good  milk — for  we  had 
milch  cows  with  us — and  the  summer  months  on  the  grassy 
plains  are  delightful,  except  for  rather  frequent  thunder 
storms.  The  grass  was  good,  and  our  cattle  in  fine  order. 
Everything  went  well  until  the  cholera  broke  out  among  us." 

"And  then?" 

"And  then  my  husband  died." 

"Ah,  what  have  not  pioneer  women  endured!" 

"  Mr.  Greyfield  had  from  the  first  been  regarded  as  a  sort 
of  leader.  Without  saying  much,  but  by  being  always  in 
the  right  place  at  the  right  time,  he  had  gained  an  ascend 
ancy  over  the  less  courageous,  strong  and  decided  men. 
When  the  cholera  came  he  was  continually  called  upon  to 
nurse  the  sick,  to  bury  the  dead  and  comfort  the  living/' 

"And  so  became  the  easier  victim  ?  " 

My  remark  was  unheeded,  while  my  hostess  lived  over 
again  in  recollection  the  fearful  scenes  of  the  cholera  sea 
son  on  the  plains.  I  wanted  to  divert  her,  and  called  her 
attention  to  the  roaring  of  the  wind  and  beating  of  the  rain 
without. 

"  Yes,"  she  said;  "  it  stormed  just  in  that  way  the  night 
before  he  died.  We  all  were  drenched  to  the  skin,  and  he 
was  not  in  a  condition  to  bear  the  exposure.  I  was  myself 
half  sick  with  fever,  and  when  the  shock  came  I  became 
delirious.  When  I  came  to  myself  we  were  a  hundred  and 
fifty  miles  away  from  the  place  where  he  died." 

"  How  dreadful! "  I  could  not  help  exclaiming.  "Not 
even  to  know  how  and  where  he  was  buried." 

"Nor  if  he  were  buried  at  all.  So  frightened  were  the 
people  in  our  train  that  they  could  not  be  prevailed  upon 
to  take  proper  care  of  the  sick  and  dying,  nor  pay  proper 
respect  to  the  dead.  After  my  reason  returned,  the  one  sub 
ject  that  I  could  not  bear  to  have  mentioned  was  that  of 
my  husband's  death.  Some  of  the  men  belonging  to  the 


16  THE  NEW  PENELOPE. 

train  had  taken  charge  of  my  affairs  and  furnished  a  driver 
for  the  wagon  I  was  in.  The  women  took  care  of  Benton; 
and  I  lived,  who  would  much  rather  have  died.  Probably 
I  should  have  died,  but  for  the  need  1  felt,  when  I  could 
think,  of  somebody  to  care  for,  support  and  educate  my 
child.  My  constitution  was  good;  and  that,  with  the 
anxiety  about  Benton,  made  it  possible  for  me  to  live." 

"  My  dear  friend,"  I  exclaimed;  "  what  a  dreadful  expe 
rience  !  I  wonder  that  you  are  alive  and  sit  there  talking 
to  me,  this  moment." 

"  You  will  wonder  more  before  I  have  done,"  she  re 
turned,  with  what  might  be  termed  a  superior  sort  of  smile 
at  my  inexperience. 

"But  how  did  you  get  to  Oregon?"  I  asked,  interrupt 
ing  her  again. 

"  Our  train  was  about  at  the  place  where  the  Oregon  and 
California  emigrants  parted  company,  when  I  recovered 
my  reason  and  strength  enough  to  have  any  concern  about 
where  I  was  going.  Some  of  those  who  bad  started  for 
Oregon  had  determined  to  go  to  California;  and  the  most 
particular  friend  Mr.  Greyfield  had  in  the  train  had  decided 
to  go  to  Oregon  instead  of  to  California,  as  he  first  intended. 
Now,  when  my  husband  was  hopeless  of  his  own  re 
covery,  he  had  given  me  in  charge  of  this  man,  with  in 
structions  to  be  governed  by  him  in  all  my  business  affairs; 
and  I  had  no  thought  of  resisting  his  will,  though  that  be 
quest  was  the  cause  of  the  worst  sorrows  of  my  life,  by 
compelling  me  to  go  to  Oregon." 

"Why  cannot  people  be  contented  with  ruling  while 
living,  without  subjecting  others  to  the  domination  of  an 
irrevocable  will,  when  they  are  no  longer  able  to  mold  or 
govern  circumstances.  I  beg  your  pardon.  Pray  go  on. 
But  first  let  me  inquire  whether  the  person  to  whom  you 
were  commanded  to  trust  your  affairs  proved  trustworthy  ?" 

"  As  trustworthy  as  nearly  absolute  power  on  one  side, 
and  timid  inexperience  on  the  other,  is  likely  to  make  any 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  17 

one.  When  we  arrived  finally  in  Portland,  he  took  my 
wagons  and  cattle  off  my  Lands,  and  returned  me  next  to 
nothing-  for  them.  Yet,  he  was  about  like  the  average  ad 
ministrator;  it  did  not  make  much  difference,  I  suppose, 
whether  this  one  man  got  my  property,  or  a  probate  court/' 

"Poor  child!  I  can  see  just  how  you  were  situated. 
Alone  in  a  new  country,  with  a  baby  on  your  hands,  and 
without  means  to  make  a  home  for  yourself.  What  did 
you  do  ?  did  you  never  think  of  going  back  to  your  parents?" 

"  How  could  I  get  back  ?  The  tide  of  travel  was  not  in 
that  direction.  Besides,  I  had  neither  money  nor  a  suffi 
cient  outfit.  There  was  no  communication  by  mail  in  those 
days  oftener  than  once  in  three  months.  You  might  perish 
a  thousand  times  before  you  could  get  assistance  from  the 
East.  O,  no!  there  was  nothing  to  be  done,  except  to 
make  the  best  of  the  situation." 

"  Certainly,  you  had  some  friends  among  your  fellow- 
immigrants  who  interested  themselves  in  your  behalf  to 
find  you  a  home  ?  Somebody  besides  your  guardian  already 
mentioned." 

:'The  most  of  them  were  as  badly  off  as  myself.  Many 
had  lost  near  friends.  I  was  not  the  only  widow;  but  some 
women  had  lost  their  husbands  who  had  several  young 
children.  They  looked  upon  me  as  comparatively  fortu 
nate.  Men  had  lost  wives,  and  these  were  the  most  wretched 
of  all;  for  a  woman  can  contrive  some  way  to  take  care  of 
her  children,  where  a  man  is  perfectly  helpless.  Families, 
finding  no  houses  to  go  into  by  themselves,  were  huddled 
together  in  any  shelter  that  could  be  procured.  The  lines 
of  partition  in  houses  were  often  as  imaginary  as  the  paral 
lels  of  latitude  on  the  earth;  or  were  defined  by  a  window, 
or  a  particular  board  in  the  wall.  O,  I  could'nt  live  in 
that  way.  My  object  was  to  get  a  real  home  somewhere. 
A?  soon  as  1  could,  I  rented  a  room  in  a  house  with  a  good 
family,  for  the  sake  of  the  protection  they  would  be  to  me, 
2 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE. 

and  went  to  work  to  earn  a  living.     Of  course,  people  were 
forward  enough  with  their  suggestions." 

"  Of  what,  for  instance?" 

"Most  persons— in  fact  everybody  that  I  talked  with 
—said  I  should  have  to  marry.  But  I  could  not  think  of 
it;  the  mention  of  it  always  made  me  sick  that  first  winter. 
I  was  recovering  strength,  and  was  young ;  so  I  thought  I 
need  not  despair." 

"  Such  a  woman  could  not  but  have  plenty  of  offers,  in 
a  new  country  especially  ;  but  I  understand  how  you  must 
have  felt.  You  could  not  marry  so  soon  after  your  hus 
band's  death,  and  it  revolted  you  to  be  approached  on  the 
subject.  A  wife's  love  is  not  so  easily  transferred." 

"  You  speak  as  any  one  might  think,  not  having  been  in 
my  circumstances.  But  there  was  something  more  than 
that  in  the  feeling  I  had.  I  could  not  realize  the  fact  of 
Mr.  Grey  field's  death.  It  was  as  if  he  had  only  fallen 
behind  the  train,  and  might  come  up  with  us  any  clay.  I 
ivaited  for  him  all  that  winter." 

;<How  distressing!"  I  could  not  help  saying.  Mrs. 
Greyfield  sat  silent  for  some  minutes,  while  the  storm  raged 
furiously  without.  She  rested  her  cheek  on  her  hand  and 
gazed  into  the  glowing  embers,  as  if  the  past  were  all 
pictured  there  in  living  colors.  For  me  to  say,  as  I  did, 
"  how  distressing,"  no  doubt  seemed  to  her  the  merest 
platitude.  There  are  no  conventional  forms  for  the  ex 
pression  of  the  utmost  grief  or  sympathy.  Silence  is  most 
eloquent,  but  I  could  not  keep  silence.  At  last  I  risked, 
'"'  What  did  she  do  to  earn  a  living?" 

"  I  learned  to  make  men's  clothes.  There  was  a  clothing 
store  in  the  place  that  gave  me  employment.  First  I  made 
vests,  and  then  pants ;  and  finally  I  got  to  be  quite  expert, 
and  could  earn  several  dollars  a  day.  But  a  dollar  did  not 
buy  much  in  those  times  ;  and  oh,  the  crying  spells  that  I 
had  over  my  work,  before  I  had  mastered  it  sufficiently  to 
have  confidence  in  myself.  Sancho  Panza  blessed  the  man 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  19 

that  invented  sleep — I  say,  blessed  be  the  woman  that  in 
vented  crying-fits,  for  they  save  thousands  and  thousands 
of  women  from  madness,  annually  !" 

This  was  a  return  to  that  sprightly  manner  of  speech 
that  was  one  of  Mrs.  Greyfield's  peculiar  attractions;  and 
which  often  cropped  out  in  the  least  expected  places.  But 
though  she  smiled,  it  was  easy  to  see  that  tears  would  not  be 
far  to  seek.  "  And  yet/'  I  said,  "  it  is  a  bad  habit  to  culti 
vate — the  habit  of  weeping.  It  wastes  the  blood  at  a 
fearful  rate." 

"  Don't  I  know  it?  But  it  is  safer  than  frenzy.  "Why  I 
used — but  I'll  not  tell  you  about  that  yet.  I  set  out  to 
explain  to  you  my  marriage  with  Mr.  Seabrook.  As  I  told 
you,  everybody  said  I  must  marry  ;  and  the  reasons  they 
gave  were,  that  I  must  have  somebody  to  support  me  ;  that 
it  wras  not  safe  for  me  to  live  alone  ;  that  my  son  would 
need  a  man's  restraining  hand  when  he  came  to  be  a  few 
years  older;  and  that  I,  m}~self,  was  too  young  to  live 
without  love! — therefore  the  only  correct  thing  to  do  was  to 
take  a  husband — a  good  one,  if  you  could  get  him — a 
husband,  anyway.  As  spring  came  round,  and  my  mind 
regained  something  of  its  natural  elasticity,  and  my  per 
sonal  appearance  probably  improved  with  returned  health, 
the  air  seemed  full  of  husbands.  Everybody  that  had  any 
business  with  me,  if  he  happened  not  to  have  a  wife,  im 
mediately  proposed  to  take  me  in  that  relation.  All  the 
married  men  of  my  acquaintance  jested  with  me  on  the 
subject,  and  their  wives  followed  in  the  same  silly  iteration. 
I  actually  felt  nryself  of  some  consequence,  whether  by 
nature  or  by  accident,  until  it  became  irksome." 

"  How  did  all  your  suitors  contrive  to  get  time  for  court 
ship?"  I  laughingly  inquired. 

"  O,  time  was  the  least  of  their  requirements.  You 
know,  perhaps,  that  there  was  an  Oregon  law,  or,  rather, 
a  United  States  law,  giving  a  mile  square  of  land  to  a  man 
and  his  wife:  to  each,  half.  Now  some  of  the  Oregonians 


20  THE  NEW  J'EXELOPE. 

made  tins  "  Donation  Act"  an  excuse  for  going  from  door 
to  door  to  beg  a  wife,  as  they  pretended,  in  order  to  be 
able  to  take  up  a  whole  section,  though  when  not  one  of 
them  ever  cultivated  a  quarter  section,  or  ever  meant  to." 

"And  they  come  to  you  in  this  way?  What  did  the}* 
say  ?  how  did  they  act?  " 

"  Why,  they  rode  a  spotted  cayuse  up  to  the  door  with  a 
great  show  of  hurry,  jangling  their  Mexican  spurs,  and  mak 
ing  as  much  noise  as  possible.  As  there  were  no  sidewalks 
in  Portland,  then,  they  could  sit  on  their  horses  and  open 
a  door,  or  knock  at  one,  if  they  had  so  much  politeness.  In 
either  case,  as  soon  as  they  saw7  a  woman  they  asked  if  she 
were  married;  and  if  not,  would  she  marry?  there  was  no 
more  ceremony  about  it." 

"Did  they  ever  realty  get  wives  in  that  way,  or  was  it 
done  in  recklessness  and  sport  ?  It  seems  incredible  that 
any  woman  could  accept  such  an  offer  as  that." 

"There  were  some  matches  made  in  that  way;  though, 
as  you  might  conjecture,  they  were  not  of  the  kind  made  in 
heaven,  and  most  of  them  were  afterwards  dissolved  by  leg 
islative  action  or  decree  of  the  courts." 

"Truly  you  were  right,  when  you  said  women  are  not 
idealized  in  primitive  conditions  of  society,"  I  said,  after 
the  first  mirthful  impulse  created  by  so  comical  a  recital 
had  passed.  "  But  how  was  it,  that  with  so  much  to  dis 
gust  you  with  the  very  name  of  marriage,  you  finally  did 
consent  to  take  a  husband?  He,  certainly,  was  not  one  of 
the  kind  that  came  riding  up  to  doors,  proposing  on  the 
instant?" 

"No,  he  was  not:  but  he  might  as  well  have  been  for  any 
difference  it  made  to  me,"  said  Mrs.  Greyfield,  with  that 
bitterness  in  her  tone  that  always  came  into  it  when  she 
spoke  of  Seabrook.  "You  ask  'how  was  it  that  I  at  last 
consented  to  take  a  husband  ?  '  Do  you  not  know  that  siu-h 
influences  as  constantly  surrounded  me,  are  demoralizing 
as  I  said  ?  You  hear  a  thing  talked  of  until  you  become  ac- 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  ^i 

customed  to  it.  It  is  as  Pope  says:  You  ' first  endure,  then 
pity,  then  embrace.'  I  endured,  felt  contempt,  and  finally 
yielded  to  the  pressure. 

"Why,  you  have  no  idea,  from  what  I  have  told  you,  of 
the  reality.  My  house  as  I  have  already  mentioned,  was 
one  room  in  a  tenement.  It  opened  directly  upon  the  street. 
In  one  corner  was  a  bed.  Opposite  the  door  was  a  stove 
for  cooking  and  warming  the  house.  A  table  and  two  chairs 
besides  my  little  sewing-chair  completed  the  furnishing  of 
the  apartment.  The  floor  was  bare,  except  where  I  had  put 
down  an  old  coverlet  for  a  rug  before  the  bed.  Here  in 
this  crowded  place  I  cooked,  ate,  slept,  worked,  and  re 
ceived  company  and  offers! 

"Just  as  an  example  of  the  way  in  which  some  of  my 
my  suitors  broached  the  subject  I  will  describe  a  scene. 
Fancy  me  kneeling  on  the  floor,  stanching  the  blood  from 
quite  a  serious  cut  on  Benton's  hand.  The  door  opens  be 
hind  me,  and  a  man  I  never  have  seen  before,  thrusts  his 
head  and  half  his  body  in  at  the  opening.  His  salutation 
is  'Howdy!'— his  first  remark,  'I  heern  thar  was  a  mighty 
purty  widder  livin'  here;  and  I  reckon  my  infurmation  was 
correct.  If  you  would  like  to  marry,  I'm  agreeable.' ' 

"How  did  you  receive  this  candidate?  You  have  not 
told  me  what  you  replied  on  these  occasions,"  I  said, 
amused  at  this  picture  of  pioneer  life. 

"  I  turned  my  head  around  far  enough  to  get  one  look 
at  his  face,  and  asking  him  rather  crossly  '  if  there  were  any 
more  fools  where  he  came  from/  went  on  bandaging  Ben- 
ton's  hand." 

The  recollection  of  this  absurd  incident  caused  the  nar 
rator  to  laugh  as  she  had  not  often  laughed  in  my  hearing. 

"This  may  have  been  a  second  Werther,"  I  remarked, 
"and  surely  no  Charlotte  could  have  been  more  unfeeling 
than  you  showed  yourself.  It  could  not  be  that  a  man  com 
ing  in  that  way  expected  to  get  any  other  answer  than  the 
one  you  gave  him  ?  " 


22  THE  NEW  PENELOPE. 

"I  do  not  know,  and  I  did  not  then  care.  One  da}-  a 
man,  to  whose  motherless  children  I  had  been  kind  when 
opportunity  offered,  slouched  into  my  room  without  the 
ceremony  of  knocking  and  dropping  into  a  chair  as  if  his 
knees  failed  him,  began  twirling  his  battered  old  hat  in  an 
embarrassed  manner,  and  doing  as  so  many  of  his  predeces 
sors  had  done — proposing  off-hand.  He  had  a  face  like  a 
terra-cotta  image,  a  long  lank  figure,  faded  old  clothes,  and 
a  whining  voice." 

"  He  told  me  that  he  had  no  '  woman,'  and  that  I  had  no 
'  man/  a  condition  that  he  evidently  considered  deplorable. 
He  assured  me  that  I  suited  him 'frustrate;'  that  his  chil 
dren  'sot  gret  store  by  me,'  and  Miked  my  victuals;'  and 
that  he  thought  a  '  heap '  of  my  little  boy.  He  also  im 
pressed  upon  me  that  he  had  been  '  considerin '  the  'range- 
inent  of  jinin'  firms  for  some  time.  To  close  the  business 
at  once,  he  proposed  that  I  should  accept  of  him  for  my 
husband  then  and  there." 

"And  pray,  what  did  you  say  to  him  /" 

"I  told  him  that  I  did  not  know  what  use  I  had  for  him, 
unless  I  should  put  him  behind  the  stove,  and  break  bark 
over  his  head." 

This  reply  tickled  my  fancy  so  much  that  I  laughed  until 
I  cried.  I  insisted  on  knowing  what  put  it  into  her  mind 
to  say  that. 

"You  see,  we  burned  fir  wood,  the  bark  of  which  is 
better  to  make  heat  than  the  woody  portion  of  the  tree; 
but  is  never  sawed  or  split,  and  has  to  be  broken.  I  used 
to  take  up  a  big  piece,  and  bring  it  down  with  a  blow  over 
any  sharp  corner  to  knock  it  into  smaller  fragments,  and 
something  in  the  man's  appearance,  I  suppose,  suggested 
that  he  might  be  good  for  that,  if  for  nothing  else.  I  did 
not  stop  to  frame  my  replies  on  any  forms  laid  down  in 
}Toung  ladies'  manuals;  but  they  seemed  to  be  conclusive 
as  a  general  thing." 

"I  should  think  so.     Yet,  there  must  have  been  some, 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  23 

more  nearly  jour  equals,  attracted  "by  your  youth  and  beauty, 
loving  you,  or  capable  of  loving  you,  to  whom  you  could 
not  give  such  answers,  by  whom  such  answers  would  not 
be  taken." 

"  As  I  look  back  upon  it  now,  I  cannot  think  of  any  one 
I  might  have  taken 'and  did  not,  that  I  regret.  There  were 
men  of  all  classes  nearly;  but  they  were  not  desirable,  as  I 
saw  it  then,  or  as  I  see  it  now.  It  is  true  that  I  was  young, 
and  pretty,  perhaps,  and  that  women  were  in  a  minority. 
But  then,  too,  the  men  who  were  floating  about  on  the  sur 
face  of  pioneer  society  were  not  likely  to  be  the  kind  of  men 
that  make  true  lovers  and  good  husbands.  Some  of  them 
have  settled  down  into  steady-going  benedicts,  and  have 
money  and  position.  The  worst  effect  of  all  this  talk  about 
marrying  was,  that  it  prepared  me  to  be  persuaded  against 
my  inner  consciousness  into  doing  that  which  I  ought  not 
to  have  clone.  My  truer  judgment  had  become  confused, 
my  perceptions  clouded,  from  being  so  often  assailed  by 
the  united  majority  who  could  not  bear  to  see  poor,  little 
minority  go  unappropriated.  But  come,  let  us  have  our 
cakes  and  lemonade.  You  need  something  to  sustain  you 
while  I  complete  the  recital  of  my  conquests." 

I  felt  that  she  needed  a  brief  interval  in  which  to  collect 
her  thoughts  and  calm  a  growing  nervousness  that  in  spite 
of  her  efforts  at  pleasantry  would  assert  itself  in  various 
little  ways,  evident  enough  to  my  observation.  A  sauce 
pan  of  water  was  set  upon  the  hot  coals  on  the  hearth,  the 
lemons  cut  and  squeezed  into  two  elegant  goblets,  upon 
square  lumps  of  sugar  that  eagerly  took  up  the  keen  acid, 
and  grew  yellow  and  spongy  in  consequence.  A  sociable 
little  round  table  was  rolled  out  of  its  seclusion  in  a  corner, 
and  made  to  support  a  tray  between  us,  whereon  were  such 
dainty  cakes  and  confections  as  my  hostess  delighted  in. 

There  was  an  air  of  substantial  comfort  in  all  the  ar 
rangements  of  my  friend's  house  that  made  it  a  peculiarly 
pleasant  one  to  visit.  It  lacked  nothing  to  make  it  home- 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE. 

like,  restful,  attractive.  The  house  itself  was  large  and 
airy,  with  charming- views;  the  furniture  sufficiently  elegant 
without  being  too  fine  for  use;  flowers,  birds,  and  all  man 
ner  of  curios  abounded,  yet  were  never  in  the  way,  as  they 
so  often  are  in  the  houses  of  people  who  are  fond  of  pretty 
and  curious  things,  but  have  no  really  refined  taste  to 
arrange  them.  Our  little  ten-o'clock  lunch  was  perfect  in 
its  appointments— a  "  thing  of  beauty,"  as  it  was  of  palat- 
ableness  and  refreshment.  So  strongly  was  I  impressed 
at  the  moment  with  this  talent  of  Mrs.  Greyfield's,  that  I 
could  not  refrain  from  speaking  of  it,  as  we  sat  sipping  hot 
and  spicy  lemonade  from  those  exquisite  cut-glass  goblets 
of  her  choosing,  and  tasting  dainties  served  on  the  loveliest 
china:  "  Yes,  I  suppose  it  is  a  gift  of  God,  the  same  as  a 
taste  for  the  high  arts  is  an  endowment  from  the  same 
source.  Did  it  never  strike  you  as  being  absurd,  that  men 
should  expect,  and  as  far  as  they  can,  require  all  women  to 
be  good  housekeepers  ?  They  might  as  well  expect  every 
mechanic  to  carve  in  wood  or  chisel  marble  into  forms  of 
life.  But  it  is  my  one  available  talent,  and  has  stood  me 
in  good  stead,  though  I  have  no  doubt  it  was  one  chief 
cause  of  my  trouble,  by  attracting  Mr.  Seabrook." 

"  You  must  know,"  I  said,  "that  I  am  tortured  with  cu 
riosity  to  hear  about  that  person .  Will  you  not  now  begin  ?  " 
"  Let  me  see — where  did  I  leave  off?  I  was  telling  you 
that  although  I  had  so  many  suitors,  of  so  many  classes, 
and  none  of  them  desirable,  to  my  way  of  thinking,  I  was 
really  gradually  being  influenced  to  marry.  You  must 
know  that  a  woman  so  young  and  so  alone  in  the  world, 
and  who  had  to  labor  for  her  bread,  and  her  child's  bread, 
could  not  escape  the  solicitations  of  men  who  did  not  care 
to  marry;  and  it  was  this  class  who  gave  me  more  uneasi 
ness  than  all  the  presuming  ignorant  ones,  who  would 
honor  me  by  making  me  a  wife.  I  know  it  is  constantly 
asserted,  by  men  themselves,  that  no  woman  is  approached 
in  that  way  who  does  not  give  some  encouragement.  But 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  25 

no  statement  could  be  more  utterly  false — unless  they  de 
termine  to  construe  ordinary  politeness  and  friendliness 
into  a  covert  advance.  The  cunning  of  the  "father  of 
lies  "  is  brought  to  bear  to  entrap  artless  and  inexperienced 
women  into  situations  whence  they  are  assured  there  is  no 
escape  without  disgrace. 

"During  my  first  year  of  widowhood  my  feelings  were 
several  times  outraged  in  this  way;  and  at  first  I  was  so 
humiliated,  and  had  such  a  sense  of  guilt,  that  it  made  me 
sick  and  unfit  for  my  work.  The  guilty  feeling  came,  I 
now  know,  from  the  consciousness  I  had  of  the  popular 
opinion  I  have  referred  to,  that  there  must  be  something 
wrong  in  my  deportment.  But  by  calling  to  mind  all  the 
circumstances  connected  with  these  incidents,  and  studying 
my  own  behavior  and  the  feelings  that  impelled  me,  I 
taught  myself  at  last  not  to  care  so  very  much  about  it, 
after  the  first  emotions  of  anger  had  passed  away.  Still  I 
thought  I  could  perceive  that  I  was  not  quite  the  same  per 
son  :  you  understand  ? — the  '  bloom '  was  being  brushed 
away." 

"What  an  outrage!  What  a  shame,  that  a  woman  in 
your  situation  could  not  be  left  to  be  herself,  with  her  own 
pure  thoughts  and  tender  sorrows  !  Was  there  no  one  to 
whom  you  could  go  for  advice  and  sympathy  ? — none  among 
all  those  who  came  to  the  country  with  you  who  could  have 
helped  you  ?  " 

"  The  people  who  came  out  with  me  were  mostly  scat 
tered  through  the  farming  country;  and  would  have  been  of 
very  little  use  to  me  if  they  had  not  been.  In  fact,  they  would, 
probably,  have  been  first  to  condemn  me,  being  chiefly  of  an 
uneducated  class,  and  governed  more  by  traditions  than  by 
the  wisdom  of  experience.  There  were  twro  or  three  fam 
ilies  whose  acquaintance  I  had  made  after  arriving  in  Port 
land,  who  were  kindly  disposed  towards  me,  and  treated 
me  with  great  neighborliness;  especially  the  family  that 
was  in  the  same  tenement  with  me.  To  them  I  sometimes 


26 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE. 


mentioned  my  troubles;  but  while  they  were  willing  to  do 
anything  for  me  in  the  way  of  a  common  friendly  service, 
like  the  loaning  of  an  article  of  household  convenience,  or 
sitting  with  me  when  Benton  was  sick — as  he  very  often 
was — they  could  not  understand  other  needs,  or  minister 
to  the  sickness  of  the  mind.  If  I  received  any  counsel,  it 
was  to  the  effect  that  a  woman  was  in  every  wav  better  off 
to  be  married.  I  used  to  wonder  why  God  had  not  made 
us  married— why  he  had  given  us  our  individual  natures, 
since  there  was  forever  this  necessity  of  being  paired!" 

"  Yet  you  had  loved  your  husband  ?  " 

"I  had  never  ceased  to  love  him! — and  that  was  just 
what  these  people  could  not  understand.  Death  cut  them 
loose  from  everything,  and  they  were  left  with  only  strong 
desires,  and  no  sentiment  to  sanctify  them.  That  I  should 
love  a  dead  husband,  and  turn  with  disgust  from  a  living- 
one,  was  inexplicable  to  them." 

"My  dear,  I  think  I  see  the  rock  on  which  you  wrecked 
your  happiness."  For  the  moment  I  had  forgotten  what 
she  had  told  me  in  the  beginning,  that  Seabrook  had 
married  her  illegally;  and  was  imagining  her  married  to  a 
living  husband,  and  loving  only  the  memory  of  one  dead. 
She  saw  my  error,  and  informed  me  by  a  look.  Pushing 
away  the  intervening  table  with  its  diminished  contents, 
and  renewing  the  fire,  Mrs.  Grey  field  proceeded : 

"  It  would  take  too  long  to  go  over  the  feelings  of  those 
times,  and  assign  their  causes.  You  are  a  woman  that  can 
put.  yourself  in  my  place,  to  a  great  extent,  though  not 
wholly;  for  there  are  some  things  that  cannot  be  imagined, 
and  only  come  by  experience." 

"Benton  was  two  years  and  a  half  old;  a  very  delicate 
child,  suffering  nearly  all  the  time  with  chills  and  fever. 
I  had  occasional  attacks  of  illness  from  the  malaria,  always 
to  be  met  with  on  the  clearing  up  of  low-lands  near  a  river. 
Still  I  was  able  to  sew  enough  to  keep  a  shelter  over  our 
heads,  and  bread  in  our  mouths,  until  I  had  been  a  year  in 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  27 

Portland.  But  I  could  not  get  ahead  in  the  least,  and  was 
often  very  low  spirited.  About  this  time  I  made  the  ac 
quaintance  of  Mr.  Seabrook.  He  was  introduced  to  me 
by  a  mutual  acquaintance,  and  having  a  little  knowledge 
of  medicine,  gave  me  both  advice  and  remedies  for  Beiiton. 
He  used  to  come  in  quite  often,  and  look  after  the  child, 
and  praise  my  housekeeping,  which  probably  was  somewhat 
better  than  that  of  the  average  pioneer  of  those  days.  He 
never  paid  me  any  silly  compliments,  or  disturbed  my  tran 
quillity  with  love-making  of  any  sort.  Just  for  that  reason 
I  began  to  like  him.  He  was  twelve  or  fifteen  years  older 
than  myself;  and  more  than  ordinarily  fine-looking  and  in 
telligent.  You  have  no  idea,  because  you  have  never  been 
so  placed,  what  a  comfort  it  was  to  me  to  have  such  a 
friend/' 

"Yes,  I  think  I  know." 

"  One  day  he  said  to  me,  'Mrs.  Greyfield,  this  sitting  and 
sewing  all  day  is  bad  for  your  health.  Now,  I  should  think, 
being  so  good  a  housekeeper,  you  might  do  very  wrell  by 
taking  a  few  boarders;  and  I  believe  }rou  could  stand  that 
kind  of  labor  better  than  sewing/  We  had  a  little  talk 
about  it,  and  he  proposed  tiying  to  find  me  a  house  suited 
to  the  purpose;  to  which  I  very  readily  consented;  for, 
though  I  was  wholly  inexperienced  in  any  business,  I 
thought  it  better  to  venture  the  experiment  than  to  keep  on 
as  I  was  doing/5 

"  How  did  you  expect  to  get  furniture?  Pardon  me;  but 
you  see  I  want  to  learn  all  about  the  details  of  so  strange  a 
life/3 

"I  don't  think  I  expected  anything,  or  thought  of  all 
the  difficulties  at  once/' 

"  AY  Inch  was  fortunate,  because  they  would  have  dis 
couraged  you/' 

"  It  is  hard  to  say  what  has  or  has  not  been  for  the  best. 
But  for  that  boarding-house  scheme,  I  do  not  believe  I 
should  have  married  the  man  I  did. 


28  THE  NEW  PENELOPE. 

"As  I  was  saying,  Mr.  Seabrook  never  annoyed  me  with 
attentions.  He  came  and  talked  to  me  in  a  friendly  man 
ner,  and  with  a  superior  air  that  disarmed  apprehension  on 

that  score.  Mrs.  -,  my  neighbor  in  the  next  room, 

once  hinted  to  me  that  his  visits  were  indicative  of  his  in 
tentions,  and  thereby  caused  me  a  sleepless  night.  But  as 
he  never  referred  to  the  subject,  and  as  I  was  now  full  of 
my  new  business  project,  the  alarm  subsided.  A  house 
was  finally  secured,  or  a  part  of  a  house,  consisting  of  a 
kitchen,  dining-room  and  bed-room,  on  the  first  floor  ;  and 
the  same  number  of  rooms  above.  I  had  a  comfortable 
supply  of  bedding  and  table  linen ;  the  trouble  was  about 
cabinet  furniture.  But  as  most  of  my  boarders  were  bach 
elors,  who  quartered  themselves  where  they  could,  I  got 
along  very  well." 

"  You  made  a  success  of  it,  then?" 

"I  made  a  success.  I  threw  all  my  energies  into  it, 
and  had  all  the  boarders  I  could  cook  for. 

"Mr.  Seabrook  boarded  with  you? — I  conjecture  that." 

"Yes;  and  he  took  a  room  at  my  house.  At  first  I  liked 
it  well  enough;  I  had  so  much  confidence  in  him.  But 
in  a  short  time  I  thought  I  could  perceive  that  my  other 
boarders  were  disposed  to  think  that  we  looked  toward  a 
nearer  relationship  in  the  future.  Perhaps  they  were  justi 
fied  in  thinking  so,  as  they  could  only  judge  from  appear 
ances;  and  I  had  asked  Mr.  Seabrook  to  take  the  foot  of 
the  table,  and  carve,  because  I  had  so  much  else  to  do  that 
it  was  impossible  for  me  to  do  that  also.  Gradually  he  as 
sumed  more  the  air  of  proprietor  than  of  boarder;  but  as 
he  was  so  much  older  and  wiser,  and  had  been  of  so  much 
service  to  me,  I  readily  pardoned  what  I  looked  upon  as  a 
matter  of  no  great  consequence. 

"  It  proved  to  be,  however,  a  matter  of  very  great  conse 
quence.  I  had  been  established  in  the  new  house  and 
business  four  or  five  weeks,  when  one  evening,  Benton  be 
ing  unusually  ill,  I  asked  Mr.  Seabrook's  advice  about  him. 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  29 

My  "bed-room  was  up  stairs,  against  the.  partition  winch 
separated  my  apartments  from  those  occupied  by  a  family 
of  Germans.  I  chose  that  room  for  myself  because  it 
seemed  less  lonely,  and  safer  for  me,  to  be  where  I  could 
hear  the  voice  of  the  little  German  woman,  and  she  could 
hear  mine.  In  the  same  manner  my  kitchen  joined  on  to 
hers,  and  we  could  hear  each  other  at  our  work.  Benton 
being  too  ill  to  be  dressed,  was  lying  on  the  bed  in  my 
room,  and  I  asked  Mr.  Seabrook  to  go  up  and  look  at  him. 
He  examined  him  and  told  me  what  to  do,  in  his  usual 
decided  and  assured  manner,  and  went  back  to  the  dining- 
room,  which  was  also  my  sitting-room.  As  soon  as  Benton 
wTas  quieted,  so  that  I  could  leave  him,  I  also  returned  to 
the  lower  part  of  the  house  to  finish  my  evening  tasks. 

' '  There  is  such  a  feeling  of  hatred  arises  in  my  heart 
when  I  recall  that  part  of  my  history  that  it  makes  me  fear 
my  own  wickedness !  Do  you  think  we  can  hate  so  much  as 
to  curse  and  blight  our  own  natures?" 

"Undoubtedly;  but  that  would  be  a  sort  of  frenzy,  and 
would  finally  end  in  madness.  You  do  not  feel  in  that 
way.  It  is  the  over-mastering  sense  of  wrong  suffered,  for 
which  there  can  be  no  redress.  Terrible  as  the  feeling  is, 
it  must  be  free  from  the  wickedness  }TOU  impute  to  yourself. 
Your  nature  is  sound  and  sweet  at  the  core — I  feel  sure  of 
that." 

"  Thank  you.  I  have  had  many  grave  doubts  about  my 
self.  But  to  go  on.  Contrary  to  his  usual  habit,  Mr.  Sea- 
brook  remained  at  the  house  that  evening,  and  in  the  din 
ing-room  instead  of  his  own  room.  I  was  so  busy  with  my 
work  and  anxious  about  Benton,  that  I  did  not  give  more 
than  a  passing  thought  to  him.  He,  also,  seemed  much 
pro-occupied. 

"At  last  my  work  was  done,  and  I  took  a  light  to  go  to 
my  room,  telling  Mr.  Seabrook  to  put  out  the  lights  below 
stairs,  as  I  should  not  be  down  again.  '  Stop  a  moment,' 
said  he,  '  I  have  something  to  tell  you  that  you  ought  to 


30  THE  NEW  PENELOPE. 

know/  He  very  politely  placed  a  chair  for  me,  which  I 
took.  His  manners  were  faultless  in  the  matter  of  eti 
quette—and  how  very  far  a  fine  manner  goes,  in  our  esti 
mate  of  people!  I  had  not  the  shadow  of  a  suspicion  of 
what  was  coming.  '  Mrs.  Greyfield/  he  said,  with  great 
gravity,  '  I  fear  I  have  unintentionally  compromised  you 
very  seriously.  In  advising  you  to  take  this  house,  and 
open  it  for  boarders,  I  was  governed  entirely  by  what  I  con 
ceived  to  be  your  best  interests;  but  it  seems  that  I  erred 
in  my  judgment.  You  are  very  young — only  twenty-three, 
I  believe,  and — -I  beg  your  pardon — too  beautiful  to  pass 
unnoticed  in  a  community  like  this.  Your  boarders,  so 
far,  are  all  gentlemen.  Further,  it  has  been  noticed  and 
commented  upon  that — really,  I  do  not  know  how  to  ex 
press  it — that  /  have  seemed  to  take  the  place  in  your 
household  that — pray,  forgive  me,  Mrs.  Greyfield — only  a 
husband,  in  fact  or  in  expectancy,  -could  be  expected  or 
permitted  to  occupy.  Do  you  see  what  I  mean  ? J 

"I  sat  stunned  and  speechless  while  he  went  on.  'I 
presume  your  good  sense  will  direct  you  in  this  matter,  and 
that  you  will  grasp  the  right  horn  of  the  dilemma.  If  you 
would  allow  me  to  help  you  out  of  it,  you  would  really  pro 
mote  my  happiness.  Dear  Mrs.  Greyfield,  permit  me  to 
offer  you  the  love  and  protection  of  a  husband,  and  stop 
these  gossips'  mouths.'  ' 

"You  do  not  think  he  had  premeditated  this?"    I  asked. 

"I  did  not  take  it  in  then,  but  afterwards  I  saw  it  plainly 
enough.  He  pressed  me  for  an  answer,  all  the  time  plausi 
bly  protesting  that  although  he  had  hoped  some  time  to 
win  my  love,  he  had  not  anticipated  the  necessity  for  urg 
ing  his  suit  as  a  matter  of  expediency.  In  vain  I  argued 
that  if  his  presence  in  the  house  was  an  injury  to  me,  he 
could  leave  it.  It  was  too  late,  he  said.  I  indignantly 
declared  that  it  was  not  my  fault  that  my  boarders  were  all 
men.  I  was  working  for  my  living,  and  would  just  as  will 
ingly  have  boarded  any  other  creature  if  I  could  have  got 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  31 

my  money  for  it;  a  monkey  or  a  sheep;  it  was  all  the  same 
to  me.  He  smiled  superiorly  on  my  fretfulness;  and  when 
I  at  last  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears,  bade  me  good  night 
with  such  an  air  of  being  extremely  forbearing  and  judi 
cious  that  I  could  not  help  regarding  myself  as  a  foolish 
and  undisciplined  child. 

"  That  night  I  scarcely  slept  at  all.  Benton  was  feverish, 
and  I  half  wild.  All  sorts  of  plans  ran  through  my  head; 
but  turn  the  matter  over  any  way  I  would,  it  amounted  to 
the  same  thing.  The  money  I  must  earn,  must  come  from 
men.  Whether  I  sewed  or  cooked,  or  whatever  I  did,  they 
were  the  paymasters  to  whom  I  looked  for  my  wages. 
How,  then,  was  it  possible  to  escape  contact  with  them,  or 
avoid  being  misunderstood.  In  one  breath  I  resented,  with 
all  the  ardor  of  my  soul,  the  impertinence  of  the  world's 
judgment,  and  in  the  next  I  declared  to  myself  that  I  did 
not  care;  that  conscious  innocence  should  sustain  me,  and 
that  I  had  a  right  to  do  the  best  I  could  for  myself  and 
child. 

"But  that  wras  only  sham  courage.  I  was  morally  a 
coward,  and  could  not  possibly  face  the  evil  spirit  of  de 
traction.  Therefore,  the  morning  found  me  feverish  in 
body  and  faint  in  spirit.  I  kept  out  of  sight  of  my  boarders, 
except  Mr.  Seabrook,  who  looked  into  the  kitchen  with  a 
sympathizing  face,  and  inquired  very  kindly  after  Bennie, 
as  he  pet-named  Benton.  When  my  dinner  was  over  that 
day,  I  asked  the  little  German  woman  to  keep  the  child 
until  I  could  go  on  an  errand,  and  went  over  to  Mrs.  -  — , 
my  old  house-mate,  to  get  advice. 

"Do  you  know  how  much  advice  is  worth?  If  you  like 
it,  you  haven't  needed  it;  and  if  you  do  not  like  it,  you  will 

not  take  it.  Mrs. told  me  that  if  she  were  in  my 

place,  as  if  she  could  be  in  my  place!  she  would  get  rid  of 
all  her  troubles  by  getting  some  man  to  take  charge  of  her 
and  her  affairs.  When  I  asked,  with  transparent  duplicity, 
where  I  wras  to  find  a  man  for  this  service,  she  laughed  in 


32  THE  NEW  PENELOPE. 

my  face.  People  did  talk  so  then,  and  what  Mr.  Seabrook 
said  was  the  unexaggerated  truth.  It  did  not  occur  to  me 
to  examine  into  the  authorship  of  the  rumors;  I  was  too 
shrinking  and  sensitive  for  that. 

"  When  I  reached  home  I  found  Mr.  Seabrook  at  the 
house.  A  sudden  feeling  of  anger  flashed  into  my  mind, 
and  must  have  illuminated  my  eyes;  for  he  gave  me  one  de 
precating  glance,  and  immediately  went  out.  This  made  me 
fear  I  was  unjust  to  him.  That  evening  he  did  not  come  to 
tea,  but  sent  me  a  note  saying  he  had  business  at  Vancouver 
and  would  not  return  for  two  or  three  days;  but  that  when 
he  did  return  it  would  be  better  to  have  my  mind  made  up 
to  dismiss  him  entirely  out  of  the  country,  or  to  have  our 
engagement  made  known. 

"That  threw  the  whole  responsibility  upon  me;  and  it 
was,  as  he  knew  it  would  be,  too  heavy  for  my  twenty-three 
years  to  carry.  To  lose  the  most  helpful  and  agreeable 
friend  I  had  in  the  country,  to  banish  him  for  no  fault  but 
being  too  kind  to  me,  or  to  take  him  in  place  of  one  whose 
image  would  always  stand  between  us:  that  was  the  alter 
native. 

"The  next  day  an  incident  occurred  that  decided  my  des 
tiny.  I  had  to  go  out  to  make  some  purchases  for  the 
house.  At  the  store  where  I  usually  bought  provisions  I 
chanced  to  meet  a  woman  who  had  crossed  the  continent 
in  my  company;  and  she  turned  her  back  upon  me  without 
speaking.  She  was  an  ignorant,  bigoted  sort  of  woman, 
of  an  uncertain  temper,  and  at  another  time  I  might  not 
have  cared  for  the  slight;  but  coming  at  a  time  when  I  was 
in  a  state  of  nervous  alarm,  it  cut  me  to  the  quick.  With 
great  difficulty  I  restrained  my  tears,  and  left  the  store. 
While  hurrying  home  with  a  basket  on  my  arm,  almost 
choked  with  grief,  I  passed  a  kind  old  gentleman  who  had 
always  before  had  a  pleasant  word  for  me,  and  an  inquiry 
about  my  child.  He,  too,  passed  me  with  only  the  slight 
est  sign  of  recognition.  I  thought  my  heart  would  burst 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  33 

in  my  breast,  so  terrible  was  the  sense  of  outrage  and 
shame — 

"Which  was,  after  all,  probably  imaginary,"  I  inter 
rupted.  "  The  insult  of  the  ignorant,  ill-tempered  woman 
was  purely  an  accidental  display  of  those  qualities,  and  the 
slight  recognition  of  your  old  friend  the  consequence  of 
the  other,  for  your  face  certainly  expressed  the  state  of  your 
feelings,  and  your  friend  was  surprised  into  silence  by  see 
ing  you  in  such  distress." 

"That,  very  likely,  is  the  true  explanation.  But  it  did 
not  so  impress  me  then.  You  cannot,  in  the  state  of  mind 
I  was  in,  go  after  people,  and  ask  them  to  tell  you  whether 
or  not  they  really  mean  to  insult  you,  because  you  are  only 
too  certain  that  they  do.  I  was  sick  with  pain  and  mortifi 
cation.  How  I  got  through  my  day's  work  I  do  not  re 
member;  but  you  can  understand  that  my  demoralization 
was  complete  by  this  time,  and  that  when  Mr.  Seabrook  re 
turned  I  was  like  wax  in  his  hands.  All  that  I  stipulated 
for  was  a  little  more  time;  he  had  my  permission  to  an 
nounce  our  engagement. 

"My  boarders  and  every  one  who  spoke  to  me  about  it 
congratulated  me.  When  I  look  back  upon  it  now,  it 
seems  strange  that  no  one  ever  suggested  to  me  the  im 
portance  of  knowing  the  antecedents  of  the  man  I  was 
going  to  marry;  but  they  did  not.  It  seemed  to  be  tacitly 
understood  that  antecedents  were  not  to  be  dragged  to 
light  in  this  new  world,  and  that  "  by-gones  should  be  by 
gones."  As  to  myself,  it  never  occurred  to  my  inexperi 
ence  to  suspect  that  a  man  might  be  dishonorable,  even 
criminal,  though  he  had  the  outside%  bearing  of  a  gentle 
man." 

"  Did  he  propose  to  relieve  you  of  the  necessity  of  keep 
ing  boarders  ?  " 

"No.  The  business  was  a  good  one;  and,  as  I  have 
said,  I  was  a  success  in  this  line.  My  constitution  was 
good;  my  energy  immense,  in  labor;  my  training  in  house- 
3 


34  THE  NEW  PENELOPE. 

hold  economy  good;  and,  besides,  I  had  a  real  talent  for 
pleasing  my  boarders.  I  was  to  be  provided  with  a  servant; 
and  the  care  of  the  marketing-  would  devolve  upon  Mr.  Sea- 
brook.  With  this  amelioration  of  my  labors,  the  burden 
could  be  easily  borne  for  the  sake  of  the  profits." 

"  What  business  was  Mr.  Seabrook  in  ?  " 

"  I  never  thought  of  the  subject  at  that  time.  He  was 
always  well  dressed;  associated  with  men  of  business; 
seemed  to  have  money;  and  I  never  doubted  that  such  a 
man  was  able  to  do  anything  he  proposed.  Women,  you 
know,  unconsciously  attribute  at  least  an  earthly  omnipo 
tence  to  men.  Afterwards,  of  course,  I  was  disillusioned. 
But  I  must  hasten,  for  it  is  growing  late;  and  either  the 
storm  or  these  old  memories  shake  my  nerves. 

"  I  had  asked  for  a  month's  time  to  prepare  my  mind  for 
my  coming  marriage.  At  the  end  of  a  week,  however, 
Mr.  Seabrook  came  to  me  and  told  me  that  imperative  busi 
ness  called  him  away  for  an  absence  of  several  weeks,  and 
that,  in  his  judgment,  the  marriage  ceremony  should  take 
"place  before  he  left.  He  should  be  away  over  the  month 
I  had  stipulated  for;  and,  in  case  of  accident,  I  would  have 
the  protection  of  his  name.  My  objections  were  soon  over 
ruled,  and  on  the  morning  of  his  departure  we  were  mar 
ried — as  I  believed,  legally  and  firmly  bound — in  the  pres 
ence  of  my  family  of  boarders,  and  two  or  three  women, 
including  Mrs.  -  — .  He  went  away  immediately,  and  I 
was  left  to  my  tumultuous  thoughts." 

"  May  I  be  permitted  to  know  whether  you  loved  him  at 
all,  at  that  time?  It  seems  to  me  that  you  must  have  some 
times  yearned  for  the  ownership  of  some  heart,  and  the 
strong  tenderness  of  man's  firmer  nature.'' 

Mrs.  Greyfield  looked  at  me  with  a  curiously  mixed  ex 
pression,  half  of  sarcastic  pity,  half  of  amused  contempt. 
But  the  thought,  whatever  it  was,  went  unspoken.  She 
reflected  a  moment  silently  before  she  answered. 

"  I  have  told  you  that  1113' heart  remained  un weaned  from 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  35 

the  memory  of  my  dead  husband.  I  told  Mr.  Seabrook 
the  same.  But  I  admired,  respected  and  believed  in  him; 
he  was  agreeable  to  me,  and  had  my  confidence.  There 
can  be  no  doubt,  but  if  he  had  been  all  that  he  seemed,  I 
should  have  ended  by  loving  him  in  a  quiet  and  constant 
way.  As  it  was,  the  shock  I  felt  at  the  discovery  of  his 
perfidy  was  terrible. 

"My  ears  were  yet  tingling  with  my  new  name,  when, 
everybody  having  gone,  I  sat  down  with  Benton  on  my  lap 
to  have  the  pleasure  of  the  few  natural  tears  that  women 
are  bound  to  shed  over  their  relinquished  freedom.  I  was 
very  soon  aroused  by  a  knock  at  the  door,  which  opened  to 
admit  an  old  acquaintance,  then  residing  in  Vancouver,  and 
a  former  suitor  of  mine.  Almost  the  first  thing  he  said 
was,  'I  hear  you  have  been  getting  married?'  '  Yes/  I  said, 
trying  to  laugh  off  my  embarrassment,  '  I  had  to  marry  a 
man  at  last  to  get  rid  of  them!' 

"You  made  a  poor  selection,  then,"  he  returned,  rather 
angrily. 

"His  anger  roused  mine,  for  his  tone  was,  as  I  thought, 
insolent,  '  Do  you  think  I  should  have  done  better  to  have 
taken  you?'  I  asked,  scornfully." 

"You  would  at  least  have  got  a  man  that  the  law  could 
give  you,"  he  retorted,  "and  not  another  woman's  hus 
band.'' 

"The  charge  seemed  so  enormous  that  I  laughed  in  his 
face,  attributing  his  conduct  to  jealous  annoyance  at  my 
marriage.  But  something  in  his  manner,  in  spite  of  our 
mutual  excitement,  unsettled  my  confidence.  He  was  not 
inventing  this  story;  he  evidently  believed  it  himself. 
'  For  God's  sake,'  I  entreated,  '  if  you  have  any  proof  of 
what  you  say,  give  it  me  at  once!'  And  then  he  went  on  to 
tell  rne  that  on  the  occasion  of  Mr.  Seabrook's  late  visit  to 
Vancouver,  he  had  been  recognized  by  an  emigrant  out 
from  Ohio,  who  met  and  talked  with  him  at  the  Hudson's 
Bay  store.  That  man  had  told  him,  my  informant,  that  he 


36  THE  XKW  PENELOPE. 

was  well  acquainted  with  the  family  of  Mr.  Seabrook,  and 
that  his  wife  and  several  children  were  living  when  he  left 
Ohio. 

"Can  you  bring  this  man  to^tne?"  I  asked,  trembling 
with  horrible  apprehensions. 

"I  don't  know  as  I  could,"  said  he;  "for  he  went,  I 
think,  over  to  the  Sound  to  look  up  a  place.  But  I  can 
give  you  the  name  of  the  town  he  came  from,  if  that  would 
be  of  any  use."  I  had  him  write  the  address  for  me,  as  I 
was  powerless  to  do  it  for  myself. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you,"  he  said,  as  he  handed  me  the  slip 
of  paper;  "  that  is,  if  you  care  anything  for  the  rascal." 

"  Thank  you,"  I  returned,  "  but  this  thing  is  not  proven 
yet.  If  you  really  mean  well  by  me,  keep  what  you  have 
told  me  to  yourself." 

"You  mean  to  live  with  him?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do;  I  must  have  time  to 
think." 

"Very  well;  it  is  no  affair  of  mine.  I  don't  want  a  bul 
let  through  my  head  for  interfering;  but  I  thought  it  was 
no  more  than  fair  to  let  you  know." 

"  I  am  very  grateful,  of  course; — I  mean  I  am  if  there  is 
any  occasion;  but  this  story  is  so  strange,  and  has  come  upon 
me  so  suddenly  that  I  cannot  take  it  all  in  at  once,  with 
all  its  consequences." 

"  '  I  know  what  you  think,'  he  said  finally:  '  You  suspect 
me  of  making  up  this  thing  to  be  revenged  on  you  for  pre 
ferring  Seabrook  to  me.  I'd  be  a  damned  mean  cuss,  to 
do  such  a  turn  by  any  woman,  would'nt  I?  As  to  conse 
quences,  if  the  story  is  true,  and  I  believe  it  is,  why  your 
marriage  amounts  to  nothing,  and  you  are  just  as  free  as 
you  were  before ! ' 

"I  fancied  his  face  brightened  up  with  the  idea  of  my  free 
dom,  and  a  doubt  of  his  veracity  intruded  upon  my  grow 
ing  conviction.  Distracted,  excited,  pressed  down  with 
cares  and  fears,  I  still  had  to  attend  to  my  daily  tasks.  I 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  37 

begged  him  to  go  away,  and  not  to  say  a  word  to  any  other 
mortal  about  what  he  had  told  me;  and  he  gave  me  the 
promise  I  desired.  That  was  a  fatal  error,  and  fearfully 
was  I  punished." 

"  How  an  error?  It  seems  to  me  quite  remarkable  pru 
dence  for  one  in  your  situation." 

"  So  I  thought  then;  but  the  event  proved  differently." 

"Pray  do  tell  me  how  you  bore  up  under  all  this  excite 
ment,  and  the  care  and  labor  of  a  boarding-house  ?  The 
more  I  know  of  your  life,  the  more  surprised  I  am  at  your 
endurance." 

"It  was  the  care  and  labor  that  saved  me,  perhaps.  At 
all  events,  here  I  am,  alive  and  well,  to-night.  I  some 
times  liken  myself  to  a  tree  that  I  know  of.  It  was  a  small 
fir  tree  in  a  friend's  garden.  For  some  reason,  it  began  to 
pine  and  dwindle  and  turn  red.  My  friend's  husband  in 
sisted  on  cutting  it  down,  as  unsightly;  but  this  she  ob 
jected  to,  until  all  the  leaves  were  dry  and  faded,  and  the 
tree  apparently  dead.  Still  she  asked  for  it  to  be  spared 
for  another  season;  and,  taking  a  stick,  she  beat  the  tree  all 
over  until  not  a  leaf  was  left  on  a  single  bough;  and  there 
it  stood,  a  mere  frame  of  dry  branches,  until  everybody 
wished  it  out  of  the  way.  But  behold!  at  last  it  was  cov 
ered  with  little  green  dots  of  leaves,  that  rapidly  grew  to 
the  usual  size,  and  now  that  tree  is  the  thriftiest  in  my 
friend's  garden,  and  a  living  evidence  of  the  uses  of  adver 
sity.  But  for  the  beating  it  got,  it  would  now  be  a  dead 
tree!  I  had  my  child  to  live  and  work  for;  and  really,  but 
for  this  last  trouble,  I  should  have  thought  myself  doing 
well.  I  had  found  out  how  I  could  make  and  lay  up  money, 
and  was  gaining  that  sense  of  independence  such  knowl 
edge  gives.  Besides,  I  was  young,  and  in  good  physical 
health  most  of  the  time  before  this  last  and  worst  stroke  of 
fortune.  That  broke  down  my  powers  of  resistance  in  some 
directions,  I  had  so  much  to  resist  in  others." 

"  Do  you  see  what  o'clock  it  is  V  "  I  asked. 


38  THE  NEW  PENELOPE. 

"Yes;  but  if  you  do  not  mind  the  sitting  up,  let's  make 
a  night  of  it.  I  feel  as  if  I  could  not  sleep—as  if  some 
thing  were  going  to  happen." 

Very  cheerfully  I  consented  to  the  proposed  vigil.  I 
wanted  to  hear  the  rest  of  the  story;  and  I  knew  she  had  a 
sort  of  prophetic  consciousness  of  coming  events.  If  she 
said  "something  was  going  to  happen/'  something  surely 
did  happen.  So  the  fire  was  renewed,  and  we  settled  our 
selves  again  for  "  a  night  of  it." 

"  What  did  you  do?  and  why  do  you  say  that  you  com 
mitted  a  fatal  error  by  keeping  silence  ?" 

"By  suffering  the  matter  to  rest,  I  unfortunately  fixed 
myself  in  the  situation  I  would  have  avoided.  My  object 
was  what  yours  would  have  been,  or  any  woman's — to  save 
all  scandal,  until  the  facts  were  known  to  a  certainty.  I 
was  so  sensitive  about  being  talked  over  ;  and  besides  felt 
that  I  had  no  right  to  expose  Mr.  Seabrook  to  a  slanderous 
accusation.  It  was  not  possible  for  me  to  have  foreseen 
what  actually  happened. 

"I  took  one  night  to  think  the  matter  over.  It  was  a 
longer  night  than  this  one  will  seem  to  you.  My  decision 
was  to  write  to  the  postmaster  of  the  town  from  which  Mr. 
Seabrook  was  said  to  come.  Now  that  would  be  a  simple 
affair  enough ;  the  telegraph  would  procure  us  the  infor 
mation  wanted  in  a  day.  Then  a  letter  was  five  or  six 
months  going  and  coming.  In  the  meantime  I  had  re 
solved  not  to  live  with  Mr.  Seabrook  as  his  wife;  but  you 
will  see  how  I  would,  under  the  circumstances,  be  com 
pelled  to  seem  to  do  so.  I  did  not  think  of  that  at  first, 
however.  You  know  how  you  mentally  go  over  impending 
scenes  beforehand?  I  meant  to  surprise  him  into  a  con 
fession,  if  he  were  guilty;  and  believed  I  should  be  able  to 
judge  of  his  innocence,  if  he  should  be  wrongly  accused. 
I  wrrote  and  dispatched  my  letter  at  once,  and  under  an  as 
sumed  name,  to  prevent  its  being  stolen.  When  that  was 
done  I  tried  to  rest  unconcerned  ;  but,  of  course,  that  was 
impossible.  My  mind  ran  on  this  subject  day  and  night. 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  39 

"  The  difficulties  of  my  position  could  never  be  imagined; 
you  would  have  to  be  in  the  same  place  to  see  them.  Every 
body  now  called  me  Mrs.  Seabrook,  and  I  could  not  repu 
diate  the  name  without  sufficient  cause.  I  was  forced  to 
appear  to  have  confidence  in  the  man  I  had  married  of  my 
own  free  will.  Besides,  I  really  did  not  know,  of  a  verity, 
that  he  was  not  worthy  of  confidence.  It  seemed  quite  as 
credible  that  another  man  should  invent  a  lie,  as  that  Mr. 
Seabrook  should  be  guilty  of  an  enormous  crime. 

"  Naturally  I  had  a  buoyant  temper;  was  inclined  to  see 
the  amusing  side  of  things;  enjoyed  frolicsome  conversa 
tion;  and  in  a  general  way  was  well  fitted  to  bear  up  under 
worries,  and  recover  quickly  from  depressed  conditions. 
The  gentlemen  who  boarded  with  me  were  a  cheerful  and 
intelligent  set,  whose  conversation  entertained  me,  as  they 
met  three  times  a  day  at  table.  They  were  all  friends  of 
Mr.  Seabrook,  which  gave  them  the  privilege  of  saying- 
playful  things  to  me  about  him  daily.  To  these  remarks  I 
must  make  equally  playful  replies,  or  seem  ungracious  to 
them.  You  will  see  how  every  such  circumstance  compli 
cated  my  difficulties  afterwards. 

"  You  know,  too,  how  pliable  we  all  are  at  twenty-three 
— how  often  our  opinions  waver  and  our  emotions  change. 
I  was  particularly  mercurial  in  my  temperament  before  the 
events  I  am  relating  hardened  me.  I  often  laid  in  a  half- 
waking  state  almost  all  night,  my  imagination  full  of  horri 
ble  images;  and  when  breakfast-time  came,  and  I  listened  to 
an  hour  of  entertaining  talk,  with  frequent  respectful  allu 
sions  to  Mr.  Seabrook,  and  kindly  compliments  to  myself, 
these  ugly  visions  took  flight,  while  I  persuaded  myself  that 
everything  would  come  out  right  in  the  end. 

"  A  little  while  ago  you  asked  me  if  I  did  not  love  Mr. 
Seabrook  at  all  ? — did  not  long  for  tenderness  from  him  ? 
The  question  roused  something  of  the  wickedness  in  me 
that  I  confessed  to  you  before;  but  I  will  answer  the  in 
quiry  now,  by  asking  you  if  you  think  any  woman  in  her 


40  THE  NEW  PENELOPE. 

twenties  is  quite  reconciled  to  live  unloved  ?  I  had  not 
wished  to  marry  again;  yet  undoubtedly  there  was  a  great 
blank  in  my  life,  which  my  peculiarly  friendless  condition 
made  me  very  sensible  of;  and  there  was  a  yearning  desire 
in  my  heart  to  be  petted  and  cared  for,  as  in  my  brief  mar 
ried  life  I  had  been.  But  the  coarseness  and  intrusiveness 
I  had  experienced  in  my  widowhood  had  made  me  as  irri 
table  as  the  'fretful  porcupine'  towards  that  class  of  men. 
The  thought  of  Mr.  Seabrook  loving  me  had  never  taken 
root  in  my  mind.  Even  when  he  proposed  marriage,  it 
had  seemed  much  more  a  matter  of  expediency  than  of  love. 
But  when,  after  I  had  accepted  him  as  an  avowed  lover, 
his  conduct  had  continued  to  be  unintrusive,  and  delicatelv 
nattering  to  my  womanly  pride,  it  was  most  natural  that  I 
should  begin  to  congratulate  myself  on  the  prospect  before 
me  of  life-long  protection  from  such  wounds  as  I  had  re 
ceived,  with  the  great  satisfaction  of  increased  dignity  in 
point  of  social  position;  for  then,  much  more  than  now, 
and  in  a  new  country  more  than  in  an  old  one,  a  woman's 
position  depended  on  her  relationship  to  men;  the  wife 
of  the  most  worthless  man  being  the  superior  of  an  un 
married  woman.  Accordingly  I  felt  my  promised  import 
ance,  and  began  to  exult  in  it." 

"In  short,  you  were  preparing  to  become  much  more 
subject  to  the  second  love  than  the  first;  a  not  infrequent 
experience/'  I  interrupted.  "You  certainly  must  have 
loved  a  handsome,  agreeable,  courteous,  and  manly  man, 
who  would  have  interposed  between  you  and  the  rude 
shocks  of  the  world;  and  you  had  begun  to  realize  that 
you  could,  in  spite  of  your  first  love?" 

"  And  to  have  a  feeling  of  disappointment  when  the  pos 
sibility  presented  itself  that  after  all  these  blessings  might 
be  wrested  from  me;  of  horror  when  I  reflected  that  in  that 
case  my  last  estate  would  be  inexpressibly  worse  than  the 
first." 

"  There  was  a  terrible  temptation  there!  " 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  41 

"No;  that  was  the  one  thing  I  was  perfectly  clear  about. 
Not  to  be  dragged  into  crime  or  deserved  disgrace,  I  was 
determined  upon.  How  I  should  avoid  it  was  where  I  was 
in  doubt." 

"I  am  very  anxious  to  know  how  you  met  him  on  his 
return." 

"  There  was  no  one  in  the  house  except  nryself,  and  Ben- 
ton,  who  was  now  quite  well  again  for  the  time.  I  was 
standing  by  the  dining-room  window, -arranging  some  ferns 
in  a  hanging  basket,  and  Benton.  was  amusing  himself  with 
toys  the  boarders  were  always  giving  him.  I  heard  a  foot 
step,  and  turned  my  head  slightly  to  see  who  it  was.  Mr. 
Seabrook  stood  in  the  door,  regarding  us  with  a  pleased 
smile. 

"  How  is  my  wife  and  boy  ?  "  he  said,  cheerily,  advancing 
towards  me,  and  proffering  a  kiss  of  greeting. 

"  I  put  up  my  hand  to  ward  him  off,  and  my  heart  stood 
motionless.  I  seemed  to  be  struck  with  a  chill.  My  teeth 
chattered  together,  while  the  ends  of  my  fingers  turned 
cold  at  once. 

"Naturally,  he  was  surprised;  but  thinking  perhaps  that 
the  suddenness  of  his  return,  under  the  circumstances,  had 
overcome  me,  he  quickly  recovered  his  tenderness  of  man 
ner. 

"  '  Have  I  frightened  you,  my  darling?'  he  asked,  put 
ting  out  his  arms  to  fold  me  to  his  breast.  Not  being  able 
to  speak,  I  whirled  round  rapidly,  and  hastened  to  place 
the  table  between  us.  Of  course,  he  could  not  comprehend 
such  conduct,  but  thought  it  some  nervous  freak,  probably. 

"  Turning  to  Benton,  he  took  him  up  in  his  arms  and 
kissed  him,  asking  him  some  questions  about  himself  and 
toys.  '  Could  you  tell  me  what  is  the  matter  with  your 
mamma,  Bennie?'  he  asked,  seeing  that  my  manner  re 
mained  inexplicable. 

"  '  I  tink  see  has  a  till,'  answered  Benton,  who  by  this 
time  knew  the  meaning  of  the  word  '  chill '  by  experience. 


42  THE  NEW  PENELOPE. 

Cl  (  She  lias  given  me  one,  I  know,'  said  Mr.  Seabrook, 
regarding  me  curiously.  I  began  to  feel  faint,  and  sat 
down,  leaning  my  head  on  my  hand,  my  elbow  on  the 
table. 

"  '  Anna,'  said  he,  addressing  me  by  my  Christian  name 
for  the  first  time,  and  giving  me  a  little  shock  in  conse 
quence — for  I  had  almost  forgotten  I  had  ever  been  called 
'Anna' — 'if  I  am  so  disagreeable  to  you,  I  will  go  away 
again;  though  I  certainly  had  reason  to  expect  a  different 
reception.' 

"  '  No,'  I  said,  suddenly  rousing  up;  'you  must  not  go 
until  I  have  told  }TOU  something;  unless  you  go  to  stay — 
which  would  perhaps  be  best.' 

"  '  To  stay!  go  to  stay?  There  seems  great  need  of  ex 
planation  here.  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  tell  me  why 
I  am  to  go  away  to  stay  ? ' 

"  '  The  reason  is,  Mr.  Seabrook,'  I  answered,  '  that  your 
true  wife,  and  your  own  children  expect  you  at  home,  in 
Ohio.' 

"  I  had  worded  my  answer  with  the  intention  of  shock 
ing  the  truth  out  of  him,  if  possible.  If  he  should  be  in 
nocent,  I  thought,  he  would  forgive  me.  There  was  too 
much  at  stake  to  stand  upon  niceties  of  speech;  and  I 
watched  him  narrowly." 

"  How  did  he  receive  such  a  blow  as  that?  I  am  curious 
to  know  how  guilty  people  act,  on  being  accused." 

"You  cannot  tell  an  innocent  from  a  guilty  person," 
Mrs.  Greyneld  returned,  with  a  touch  of  that  asperity  that 
was  sometimes  noticeable  in  her  utterances.  Then,  more 
quietly:  "  Both  are  shocked  alike  at  being  accused;  one  be 
cause  he  is  innocent;  the  other,  because  he  is  guilty.  How 
much  a  person  is  shocked  depends  upon  temperament  and 
circumstance.  The  guilty  person,  always  consciously  in 
danger  of  being  accused,  is  likely  to  be  prepared  and  on 
the  defensive,  while  the  other  is  not. 

"  What  Mr.  Seabrook  did,  was  to  turn  upon  me  a  look 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  43 

of  keen  observation,  not  unmixed  with  surprise.  It  might 
mean  one  thing;  it  might  mean  another;  how  could  I  tell? 
He  always  impressed  me  so  with  his  superiority  that  even 
in  that  moment,  when  my  honor  and  life's  happiness  were 
at  stake,  I  was  conscious  of  a  feeling  of  abasement  and 
guiltiness  that  I  dare  accuse  him  to  his  face.  Perhaps,  he 
saw  that  I  was  frightened  at  my  own  temerity;  at  all  events 
he  was  not  thrown  off  his  guard. 

"  '  Do  I  understand  you  to  charge  me  with  crime — a  very 
ugly  crime,  indeed?'  he  asked  pointedly. 

"  '  You  know/  I  said,  '  whether  you  are  guilty.  If  you 
are,  may  God  so  deal  with  you  as  you  have  meant  to  deal 
with  me/ 

"  I  fancied  that  he  winced  slightly  at  this;  but  in  my  ex 
citement  could  not  have  seen  very  clearly.  He  knitted  his 
brows,  and  took  several  turns  up  and  down  the  room. 

"  '  If  I  knew  who  had  put  this  monstrous  idea  into  your 
mind,'  he  finally  said  with  vehemence;  'I  would  send  a 
bullet  through  his  heart ! ' 

11  '  In  that  case,'  I  replied:  '  you  could  not  expect  me  to 
tell  you;'  and  I  afterwards  made  that  threat  my  excuse  for 
concealing  the  name  of  my  informant. 

"  Mr.  Seabrook  continued  to  pace  the  floor  in  an  excited 
manner,  stroking  his  long  blonde  beard  rapidly  and  uncon 
sciously.  I  still  sat  by  the  table,  trying  to  appear  the  calm 
observer  that  I  was  not.  He  came  and  stood  by  me,  say 
ing:  '  Do  you  believe  this  thing  against  me  ?  ' 

"  '  I  do  not  know  what  to  believe,  Mr.  Seabrook,'  I  re 
plied,  'but  something  will  have  to  be  done  about  this 
rumor.'  I  could  not  bear  to  go  on;  but  he  understood  me. 
He  leaned  over  my  chair,  and  touched  my  cheek  with  his: 

"  '  Are  }TOU  my  wife,  or  not  ?'  he  asked.  I  shuddered,  and 
put  my  face  down  on  my  hands.  He  knelt  by  my  side,  and 
taking  my  hands  in  his,  so  that  my  face  must  be  seen, 
asked  me  to  look  into  his  eyes  and  listen  to  him.  What  he 
said,  was  this: 


44  THE  NEW  PENELOPE. 

"  '  If  I  swear  to  you,  by  Almighty  God,  that  you  are  my 
true  and  only  wife,  will  you  then  believe  me?'" 

Mrs.  Grey  field  was  becoming  visibly  agitated  by  these 
reminiscences,  and  paused  to  collect  herself. 

"You  dared  not  say  'yes,'  I  cried,  carried  away  with 
sympathy,  and  yet,  you  could  not  say  '  no.'  What  did 
you  do?  " 

"  I  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears,  and  cried  convulsively. 
He  would  have  caressed  and  consoled  me,  but  I  would 
have  none  of  it. 

"'Anna,  what  a  strange  home-coming  for  a  bride 
groom!'  he  said,  reproachfully. 

"  '  Go  away,  and  leave  me  to  myself,'  I  entreated;  'You 
must  not  stay  here.3 

"  '  What  madness?'  he  exclaimed.  'Do  you  wish  to  set 
everybody  to  talking  about  us?'  Ah!  'talking  about  us,' 
was  the  bugbear  I  most  dreaded,  and  he  knew  it.  But  I 
wanted  to  seem  brave;  so  I  said  that  in  private  matters  we 
were  at  liberty  to  do  as  we  thought  right  and  best. 

"  '  And  I  think  it  right  and  best  to  stay  where  my  wife 
is.  Anna,  what  is  to  be  the  result  of  this  strange  suspic 
ion  of  yours,  but  to  make  us  both  unhappy,  and  me 
desperate  !  Why,  I  shall  be  the  laughing-stock  of  the 
town — and  I  confess  it  is  more  than  I  can  bear  without 
flinching,  to  have  it  circulated  about,  that  Seabrook  mar 
ried  a  wife  who  cut  him  adrift  the  first  thing  she  did.  And 
then  look  at  your  position,  too,  which  would  be  open  to 
every  unkind  remark.  You  must  not  incur  this  almost 
certain  ruin.'  * 

"'Mr.  Seabrook,'  I  said,  more  calmly  than  I  had  yet 
spoken;  '  what  you  have  said  has  suggested  itself  to  me 
before.  Stay  here,  then,  if  you  must,  until  I  can  take 
measures  to  satisfy  myself  of  the  legality  of  our  marriage. 
You  can  keep  your  own  counsel,  and  I  can  keep  mine.  I 
have  spoken  to  no  one  about  this  matter,  nor  will  I  for  the 
present.  There  is  your  old  room;  your  old  place  at  the 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  45 

table.  I  will  try  to  act  as  natural  as  possible;  more  than 
this  yon  must  not  expect  of  me/  This  business-like  tone 
nettled  him. 

".'  May  I  inquire,  Mrs.  Seabrook,  how  long  a  probation 
I  may  anticipate,  and  what  measures  you  intend  taking  to 
establish  my  good  or  bad  character?  A  man  may  not  be 
willing  to  wait  always  for  a  wife.' 

"  '  Very  well/  I  replied  to  this  covert  threat;  '  when  you 
tire  of  waiting,  you  know  wThat  to  do.'  Bat  my  voice  must 
have  trembled,  for  he  instantly  changed  his  manner.  There 
was  more  chance  of  winning  me  through  my  weakness  than 
of  intimidating  me,  coward  though  I  was. 

"  '  My  clear  Anna,'  he  said  kindly,  '  this  is  a  most  morti 
fying  and  trying  predicament  that  I  am  in ;  and  you  must 
pardon  me  if  I  seem  selfish.  I  do  not  know  how  I  am  to 
bear  several  months  of  this  un natural  life  you  propose; 
and  in  thinking  of  myself  I  forget  you.  Yet  your  case,  as 
you  see  it,  is  harder  than  mine;  and  I  ought  to  pity  and 
comfort  you.  If  my  darling  would  only  let  me  !'  He 
stretched  out  his  arms  to  me.  It  was  all  I  could  do  to 
keep  from  rushing  into  them,  and  sobbing  on  his  breast. 
I  was  so  tempest- tossed  and  weary  ! — what  would  I  not 
have  given  to  lay  down  my  burdens  ?" 

"  That  is  where  the  unrecognized  heroism  of  women 
comes  in.  How  few  men  would  suffer  in  this  way  for  the 
right  !  Had  you  chosen  to  ignore  the  tale  that  you  had 
heard,  and  taken  this  man  whom  fortune  had  thrown  with 
you  upon  this  far-off  coast,  he  might  have  been  to  you  a 
kind  friend  and  protector.  Do  you  not  think  so  ?" 

"Very  likely.  Plent}r  of  bad  men,  when  deferred  to, 
have  made  good  husbands,  as  men  go.  But  I,  by  resisting 
the  will  of  one  bad  man,  made  infinite  trouble  for  myself. 
Are  you  becoming  wearied?  " 

"No,  no;  go  on." 

"I  must  pass  over  a  great  deal;  and,  thank  God!  some 
things  have  been  forgotten.  Mr.  Seabrook  took  his  old 


46  THE  NEW  PENELOPE. 

room  down  stairs.  As  before,  lie  sat  at  the  foot  of  the 
table  and  carved,  but  now  as  master  of  the  house.  Servants 
not  being  easily  obtained,  it  was  not. remarked  that  my 
duties  prevented  my  sitting  down  with  my  supposed  hus 
band  at  meals.  He  marketed  for  me,  and  received  the 
money  of  my  boarders  when  pay-day  came;  and  at  first  he 
did— what  he  failed  to  do  afterwards — pay  the  money  over 
to  me. 

"You  are  curious  to  know  how  Mr.  Seabrook  conducted 
himself  toward  me  personally,  and  in  particular.  For  a 
few  days,  well;  so  that  I  began  to  feel  confidence  that  so 
honorable  a  gentleman  would  be  proved  free  from  all  stain. 
But  he  soon  began  to  annoy  me  with  the  most  persistent 
courtship,  looking,  as  I  could  see,  to  breaking  down  my 
reserve,  and  subjecting  me  to  the  domination  of  a  passion 
for  him.  If  I  had  ever  really  loved  Mr.  Seabrook,  it  would 
have  been  a  love  of  the  senses,  of  interest,  of  the  under 
standing,  and  not  of  the  imagination  and  heart.  I  was 
just  on  the  eve  of  such  a  love  when  it  was  fortunatel}r  put 
in  check  by  my  suspicions.  For  him  to  endeavor  to  create 
a  feeling  now  that  might,  nay,  that  was  intended  to  subvert 
principle  and  virtue,  appeared  even  to  my  small  worldly 
sense,  an  insult  and  an  outrage. 

"  When  I  talked  in  this  way  to  him,  he  half  laughingly 
and  half  in  earnest  always  declared  that  I  should  get  into 
the  habit  of  forgetting  our  marriage  before  my  'proofs' 
came  from  Ohio,  unless  he  every  day  put  me  in  mind  of  it! 
and  this  willingness  to  refer  to  '  proofs'  threw  ine  off  my 
guard  a  little.  He  designed  very  cunningly,  but  not  quite 
cunningly  enough.  As  time  wore  on  and  he  feared  the 
proofs  might  come  before  he  had  bent  me  to  his  will,  his  at 
tempts  lost  even  the  semblance  of  love  or  decency.  Many 
and  many  a  night  I  feared  to  close  my  eyes  in  sleep,  lest 
he  should  carry  out  his  avowed  purpose;  for  locks  and  bolts 
in  a  house  in  those  days  were  considered  unnecessary,  and 
I  improvised  such  defenses  as  I  could.  I  used  to  threaten 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  47 

to  call  in  my  little  German  neighbor,  to  which  he  replied 
she  would  probably  recognize  a  man's  right  to  occupy  the 
same  apartment  with  his  wife!  Still,  I  think  he  was  de 
terred  somewhat  by  the  fear  of  exposure  from  using  vio 
lence." 

The  recital  of  such  sufferings  and  anxieties  as  these;  en 
dured,  too,  by  a  young  and  lonely  woman,  affected  me 
powerfully.  My  excited  imagination  was  engaged  in  com 
paring  the  Mrs.  Greyfield  I  saw  before  me,  wearing  her 
nearly  fifty  years  with  dignity  and  grace,  full  of  a  calm  and 
ripe  experience,  still  possessing  a  dark  and  striking  beauty, 
with  the  picture  she  had  given  me  of  herself  at  twenty- 
three.  What  a  wonder  it  was  that  with  her  lively  tempera 
ment  either  for  pain  or  pleasure;  with  her  beauty  and  her 
helplessness,  she  had  come  out  of  the  furnace  unscathed, 
as  she  now  appeared. 

"How  could  you/'  I  said,  with  a  feeling  of  deep  disgust, 
"  how  could  you  allow  siich  a  man  to  remain  in  your  house?" 

"  How  could  I  get  him  out?  We  were  legally  married, 
so  far  as  anybody  in  Oregon  knew7,  except  himself.  Eveiy- 
body  presumed  us  to  be  living  amicably  together.  He  was 
careful  to  act  the  courteous  gentleman  to  me  in  the  pres 
ence  of  others.  If  we  never  went  out  together,  it  was  easily 
explained  by  reference  to  my  numerous  household  cares, 
and  Bentoii's  frequent  illness.  As  I  before  said,  no  one 
could  understand  the  position  who  had  not  been  in  it.  I 
could  not  send  him  away  from  me;  nor  could  I  go  away 
from  him.  He  would  have  followed  me,  he  said,  to  the 
'ends  of  the  earth.'  Besides,  where  could  I  go?  There 
was  nothing  for  me  but  to  endure  until  the  answer  to  my 
letter  came.  Never  was  letter  so  anxiously  desired  as  that 
one;  for,  of  course,  I  fully  expected  that  whatever  news  it 
contained,  would  bring  relief  in  some  way.  But  I  had 
made  up  my  mind  to  his  guilt,  rightly  judging  that,  had  he 
been  innocent,  he  would  either  have  found  means  to  satisfy 
me,  or  have  gone  away  and  left  me  altogether. 


48  THE  NEW  PENELOPE., 

"It  had  "been  six  or  seven  months  since  my  marriage. 
I  had  a  large  family  of  boarders  to  cook  for,  and  Benton 
giving  me  a  great  deal  of  worry,  fearing  I  should  lose  him. 
"Working  hard  all  day,  and  sleeping  very  little  nights,  with 
constant  excitement  and  dread,  had  very  much  impaired 
my  health.  My  boarders  often  said  to  me :  '  Mrs.  Seabrook, 
you  are  working  too  hard;  you  must  make  Mr.  Seabrook 
get  you  a  cook.'  What  could  I  say  in  return,  except  to 
force  a  smile,  and  turn  the  drift  of  the  conversation?  Once, 
carried  away  with  indignation,  I  replied  that  '  Mr.  Sea- 
brook  found  it  as  much  as  he  could  do  to  collect  the  money 
I  earned!' " 

"And  you  were  set  down  at  once  as  a  vixen!"  I  said, 
smiling. 

"  Well,  they  were  not  expected  to  know  how  matters 
stood,  when  I  had  taken  so  much  pain  to  conceal  the  truth. 
I  was  sorry  I  had  not  held  my  peace  a  little  longer,  or  alto 
gether.  Men  never  can  understand  a  woman's  right  to 
resent  selfishness,  however  atrocious;  even  when  they  are 
knowing  to  it,  which  in  this  case  they  were  not.  I  might 
as  well  have  held  my  tongue,  since  every  unguarded  speech 
of  mine  militated  against  me  afterwards." 

"You  allowed  Mr.  Seabrook  to  have  all  your  earnings?" 

"I  could  not  prevent  it;  he  was  my  husband.  Sometimes 
I  thought  he  meant  to  save  up  all  he  could,  to  take  him  out 
of  the  country,  when  the  hoped-for  proofs  of  his  crime 
should  arrive.  And  in  that  light  I  was  inclined  to  rejoice 
in  his  avarice.  I  would  have  given  all  I  had  for  that  pur 
pose.  Oh,  those  dreadful,  dreadful  days!  when  I  was  so 
near  insane  with  sleeplessness  and  anxiety,  that  I  seemed 
to  be  walking  on  the  air!  Such,  indeed,  was  my  mental 
and  physical  condition,  that  everything  seemed  unreal, 
even  myself;  and  it  surprises  me  now  that  my  reason  did 
not  give  way." 

"  Did  you  never  pray  ?  " 

"My   training   had   been   religious,    and   I  had   always 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  49 

prayed.  This,  I  felt,  entitled  me  to  help;  and  yet  help  did 
not  come.  I  felt  forsaken  of  God,  and  sullenly  shut  my 
lips  to  prayer  or  complaint.  All  severely  tried  souls  go 
through  a  similar  experience.  Christ  himself  cried  out: 
'  My  God,  my  God,  why  hast  thou  forsaken  me! ' 

"  No  wonder  you  felt  forsaken,  indeed." 

"You  think  I  was  as  tried  as  I  could  be  then,  when  I 
had  a  hope  of  escape;  but  worse  came  after  that — worse, 
because  more  hopeless." 

"You  were  really  married  to  him  then?"  I  cried  in 
alarm:  "I  thought  you  told  me  in  the  beginning,  that  you 
wrere  not." 

"  Neither  was  I;  but  that  did  not  release  me.  When  at 
last  I  received  an  answer  to  my  inquiries,  confirming  the 
statement  of  the  immigrant  from  Ohio,  it  was  too  late." 

"You  do  not  mean!" — I  interrupted,  in  a  frightened 
voice. 

"No,  no!  I  only  mean  that  I  had  committed  a  great 
error,  in  keeping  silence  on  the  subject  at  the  first.  You 
can  imagine  one  of  your  acquaintances  who  had  been  sev 
eral  months  peaceably  living  with  a  man  of  good  appear 
ance  and  repute,  to  whom  you  had  seen  her  married,  sud 
denly  declaring  her  husband  a  bigamist  and  refusing  to 
live  with  him;  and  on  no  other  evidence  than  a  letter  ob 
tained,  nobody  knew  how.  To  me  the  proof  was  conclu 
sive;  and  it  made  me  frantic  to  find  that  it  was  not  so  re 
ceived  by  others." 

"What  did  he  say,  when  you  told  him  that  you  had  this 
evidence  ?  How  did  he  act  ?  " 

"  He  swore  it  was  a  conspiracy;  and  declared  that  now 
he  had  borne  enough  of  such  contumelious  conduct;  he 
should  soon  bring  me  into  subjection.  He  represented 
himself  to  me,  as  an  injured  and  long-suffering  man;  and 
me,  to  myself,  as  an  unkind,  undutiful,  and  most  unwo 
manly  woman.  He  told  me,  what  was  true,  that  I  need  not 
expect  people  to  believe  such  a  'cock  and  bull  story;'  and 


50  THE  NEW  PENELOPE. 

used  every  possible  means  of  intimidation,  except  actual 
corporeal  punishment.  That  he  threatened  long  after;  and 
I  told  hiin  if  he  ever  laid  a  finger  on  me,  I  should  certainly 
shoot  him  dead.  But  we  had  not  come  to  that  yet." 

"Long  after!"  I  repeated.  "You  do  not,  you  cannot 
mean  that  this  wretch  continued  to  live  under  the  same  roof 
with  you,  long  after  he  knew  that  you  would  never  acknowl 
edge  him  as  your  husband  ?  " 

"Yes,  for  years!  For  years  after  he  knew  that  I  knew 
he  was  ivhat  he  ivas,  he  lived  in  my  house  and  took  my 
earnings;  yes,  and  ordered  me  about  and  insulted  me  as 
much  as  he  liked." 

''But,"  I  said,  "I  cannot  understand  such  a  condition 
of  things.  Was  there  no  law  in  the  land  ?  no  succor  in  the 
society  about  you  V  How  could  other  women  hold  still,  and 
know  that  a  young  creature  like  you  was  being  tortured  in 
that  way  ?  " 

"The  inertia  of  women  in  each  other's  defense  is  im 
mense,"  returned  Mrs.  Greyfield,  in  her  most  incisive  tone. 
"You  must  not  forget  that  Portland  was  then  almost  a 
wilderness,  and  families  were  few,  and  often  'far  between.' 
Among  the  few,  my  acquaintances  were  still  fewer;  for  I 
had  come  among  them  poor  and  alone,  and  with  all  I  could 
do  to  support  myself,  without  time  or  disposition  to  visit. 
The  peculiar  circumstances  I  have  related  to  you  broke  my 
spirit  and  inclined  me  to  seclusion.  However,  I  did  carry 
my  evidence,  and  my  story  together,  to  two  or  three  women 
that  I  knew,  and  w7hat  do  you  suppose  they  said  ?  That  I 
'  should  have  thought  of  all  that  before  I  married!'  They 
treated  it  exactly  as  if,  having  gone  through  the  marriage 
ceremony,  I  wras  bound,  no  matter  how  many  wives  Mr. 
Seabrook  had  back  in  Ohio." 

"They  could  not  have  believed  your  story, 7>  I  said;  not 
being  able  to  take  in  such  inferior  morality. 

"What  they  believed  I  do  not  know:  what  they  said  I 
have  told  you.  I  incline  to  the  opinion  that  they  thought 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  51 

I  might  be  a  little  daft — I  am  sure  I  must  have  looked  so  at 
times,  from  sheer  sleeplessness  and  exhaustion.  Or  they 
thought  I  had  no  chance  of  establishing  the  truth,  and 
would  be  better  off  to  submit  quietly.  At  all  events,  not 
one  encouraged  ine  to  resist  Mr.  Seabrook;  and  to  overflow 
my  cup  of  misery,  he  contrived  to  find  the  important  letter, 
which  I  had  hidden,  and  destroy  it." 

"  Did  }TOU  never  go  to  men  about  your  case,  and  ask  for 
assistance?  " 

"At  first  I  was  afraid  to  appeal  to  them,  having  had  so 
many  unpleasant  experiences;  and  when  I  at  last  was 
driven  to  seek  counsel,  I  was  too  late,  as  I  before  explained." 

"  Too  late?" 

"Yes;  I  mean  that  the  idea  of  my  being  Mr.  Seabrook's 
wife  was  so  firmly  seated  in  their  minds  that  they  could  not 
see  it  in  any  other  light.  The  fact  of  my  having  written 
and  received  a  letter  did  not  impress  them  as  of  any  con 
sequence.  You  will  find  this  to  be  a  truth  among  men; 
they  respect  the  sense  of  ownership  in  women,  entertained 
by  each  other;  and  they  respect  it  so  much  that  they  would 
as  soon  be  caught  stealing,  as  seeming  in  any  way  to  inter 
fere  with  it.  That  is  the  reason  that,  although  there  is 
nothing  in  the  wording  of  the  marriage  contract  converting 
the  woman  into  a  bond-slave  or  a  chattel,  the  man  who 
practices  any  outrage  or  wrong  on  his  wife  is  so  seldom 
called  to  account.  In  the  eyes  of  these  men,  having  en 
tered  into  marriage  with  Mr.  Seabrook,  I  belonged  to  him, 
and  there  was  no  help  for  me.  For  life  and  until  death,  I 
was  his,  to  do  what  he  pleased  with,  so  long  as  he  did  not 
bruise  my  flesh  nor  break  my  bones.  Is  not  that  an  awful 
power  to  be  lodged  with  any  human  being  ?  " 

"But,"  I  said,  "if  they  were  told  the  whole  truth,  that 
the  marriage  had  never  been  consummated,  and  why,  would 
they  not  have  been  moved  by  a  feeling  of  chivalry  to  inter 
fere?  Your  view  of  their  sentiments  pre-supposes  the  non- 
existence  of  what  I  should  call  chivalry." 


52  THE  XEW  PEXELOPE. 

"There  may  be  in  men  such  a  sentiment  as  you  would 
call  chivalry;  but  I  never  yet  have  seen  the  occasion  where 
they  were  pleased  to  exercise  it.  I  would  not  advise  any 
other  young  woman  to  tell  one  of  them  that  she  had  lived 
alone  in  the  same  house  with  a  man  reputed  to  be  her  hus 
band,  for  seven  months,  without  the  marriage  having  been 
consummated.  She  would  find,  as  I  did,  that  his  chivalry 
would  be  exhibited  by  an  ineffectual  effort  to  suppress  a 
smile  of  incredulity." 

"Can  it  be  possible,"  I  was  forced  to  exclaim,  "that 
there  was  no  help  for  you?" 

"You  see  how  it  was.  I  have  outlined  the  bare  facts  to 
you.  Nobody  wanted  to  be  mixed  up  in  my  troubles,  and 
the  worst  of  it  was  that  Mr.  Seabrook  got  more  sympathy 
than  I  did,  as  the  unfortunate  husband  of  a  terrible  terma 
gant,  who  made  his  life  a  burden  to  him.  He  could  talk 
in  a  certain  way  around  among  men,  and  put  on  an  aggrieved 
air  at  home  before  the  boarders,  and  what  was  the  use  of 
my  saying  anything.  If  it  had  not  been  for  my  little  Ger 
man  neighbor,  I  should  have  felt  utterly  forsaken  by  all 
the  world.  But  she,  whatever  she  thought  of  my  domestic 
affairs,  was  sorry  for  me.  '  What  for  you  cry  so  much  all 
de  time?'  she  said  to -me  one  day.  'You  makes  yourself 
sick  all  de  time  mit  cryin';  an'  your  face  be  gettiu'  wite  as 
my  hankershif.  De  leedle  boy,  too,  he  sees  you,  an'  he 
gets  all  so  wite  as  you  are,  all  de  same.  Dat  is  not  goot. 
You  gomes  to  see  me,  an'  brings  de  boy  to  see  my  Hans. 
You  get  sheered  up  den.'  And  I  took  her  advice  for  Ben- 
ton's  sake." 

"What  object  had  Mr.  Seabrook  in  remaining  where  he 
was  so  unwelcome?  He  certainly  entertained  no  hope  that 
you  would  finally  yield;  and  his  position  could  not  have 
been  an  agreeable  one,  from  any  point  of  view;  for  whether 
he  was  regarded  as  the  monster  he  was,  or  only  as  a  sadly 
beshrewed  husband,  he  must  have  felt  himself  the  subject 
of  unpleasant  remark." 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  53 

"He  could  afford  to  be  remarked  upon  when  lie  was  a 
free  pensioner  upon  a  woman's  bounty,  and  in  receipt  of  a 
fine  income  which  I  earned  for  him  by  ceaseless  toil.  I  can 
see  him  now  sitting  at  the  bottom  of  the  table,  my  table, 
flourishing  his  white  hands,  and.  stroking  his  flowing  blonde 
beard  occasionally  as  something  very  gratifying  to  his 
vanity  was  said;  talking  and  laughing  with  perfect  uncon 
cern,  while  he  fattened  himself  at  my  expense;  while  I,  who 
earned  and  prepared  his  dinner  for  him,  gasped  half  faint 
ing  in  the  heat  of  a  kitchen,  sick  in  heart  and  body.  Do 
you  wonder  that  I  hated  him?" 

"I  wonder  more  that  yon  did  not  kill  him,"  I  said;  feel 
ing  that  this  would  have  been  a  case  of  'justifiable  homi 
cide.3 

"  The  impulse  certainly  came  to  me  at  times  to  kill  him; 
or  if  not  exactly  that,  to  wish  him  dead.  Yet  when  the 
opportunity  came  to  be  revenged  upon  him  by  fate  itself, 
I  interfered  to  save  him.  That  was  strange,  was  it  not? 
To  be  suffering  as  I  suffered  at  this  man's  hands,  and  yet 
when  he  was  in  peril  to  have  compassion  upon  him  ?" 

et  You  could  not  alter  3*0111'  nature,"  I  said,  "  which  is,  as 
I  told  you  before,  thoroughly  sound  and  sweet.  It  goes 
ag'ainst  us  to  suffer  wrong;  but  it  goes  still  harder  with  us 
to  do  wrong.  Besides,  you  had  your  religious  training  to 
help  you." 

"I  had  the  temptation,  all  the  same.  It  happened  in 
this  wa}r:  One  night  I  was  tying  awake,  as  I  usually  did, 
until  I  heard  Mr.  Seabrook  come  in  and  go  to  his  room. 
He  came  in  rather  later  than  usual,  and  I  listened  until  all 
was  still  in  the  house,  that  I  might  sleep  the  more  safely 
and  soundly  afterwards.  I  had,  however,  become  so  nerv 
ously  wakeful  by  this  time  that  the  much  needed  and 
coveted  sleep  refused  to  visit  me,  and  I  laid  tossing  fever 
ishly  upon  my  bed  when  I  became  aware  that  there  was  a 
smell  of  fire  in  the  air.  Rapidly  dressing,  I  took  Benton 
in  my  arms  and  hastened  down  stairs,  to  have  him  where 


54  THE  NEW  PENELOPE. 

I  could  save  him,  should  the  house  be  in  danger.  There 
was  a  still  stronger  odor  of  burning  cloth  and  wood  in  the 
lower  rooms,  but  very  little  smoke  to  be  detected.  After 
looking  into  the  kitchen  and  finding  all  right  there,  I 
feared  the  fire  might  be  in  the  other  part  of  the  house,  and 
was  about  to  give  the  alarm,  when  it  occurred  to  me  that 
the  trouble  might  be  in  Mr.  Seabrook's  room. 

"Leaving  Benton  asleep  on  the  dining-room  table,  I  ran 
to  his  door  and  knocked.  No  answer  came;  but  I  could 
smell  the  smoke  within.  Pushing  open  the  door  I  discov 
ered  him  lying  in  a  perfectly  unconscious  state,  and'  half 
undressed,  on  the  bed,  sleeping  off  the  effects  of  a  wine 
supper.  A  candle  which  ho  had  lighted,  and  left  burning, 
had  consumed  itself  down  to  the  socket,  and  by  some 
chance  had  ignited  a  few  loose  papers  on  the  table  beside 
the  bed  ;  the  fire  had  communicated  to  the  bedding  on  one 
side,  and  to  some  of  his  wearing  apparel  on  the  other. 
All  was  just  ready  to  burst  into  a  blaze  with  the  admission 
of  fresh  air,  which  I  had  the  presence  of  mind  to  prevent, 
by  closing  the  door  behind  me. 

"  There  I  wTas,  in  the  presence  of  my  enemy,  and  he  in 
the  clutches  of  death.  I  shudder  when  I  think  of  the  feel 
ings  of  that  moment !  An  evil  spirit  plainly  said  to  me, 
'Now  you  shall  have  rest.  Let  him  alone  ;  he  is  dying  by 
his  own  hand,  not  yours — why  do  you  interfere  with  the 
decree  of  fate  ?'  An  exulting  yet  consciously  guilty  joy 
agitated  my  heart,  which  was  beating  violently.  '  Let  him 
die  !'  I  said  to  myself,  '  let  him  die  !' 

"Very  rapidly  such  thoughts  whirl  through  the  brain 
under  great  excitement.  The  instant  that  I  hesitated 
seemed  an  age  of  cool  deliberation  to  me.  Then  the  wicked 
ness  of  my  self-gratulation  rushed  into  my  mind,  making  me 
feel  like  a  murderer.  '  O,  God/  I  cried  in  anguish  of  spirit, 
'  why  have  I  been  put  to  this  test?'  The  next  instant  I  was 
working  with  might  and  main  to  extinguish  the  fire,  which 
with  the  aid  of  blankets  and  a  pitcher  of  water  was  soon 
suppressed. 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  55 

"  Through  it  all  he  slept  on,  breathing  heavily,  an  object 
of  disgust  to  my  senses  and  my  feelings.  When' all  was 
safe  I  returned  to  my  room,  thankful  that  I  had  been  able 
on  the  spot  to  expiate  my  murderous  impulses.  The  next 
day  he  took  occasion  to  say  to  me,  '  I  shouldn't  have  ex 
pected  a  visit  of  mercy  from  you,  Mrs.  Seabrook.  If  I  had 
known  you  were  coming,  I  should  have  tried  to  keep 
awake!'  '  If  ever  you  refer  to  such  a  subject  again,'  I  re 
plied,  '  I  will  set  fire  to  you  myself,  and  let  you  burn;'  and 
either  the  threat  deterred  him,  or  some  spark  of  generosity 
in  his  nature  was  struck  by  the  benefit  received,  but  he 
never  afterwards  offered  me  any  annoyance  of  that  kind." 

"  How  did  Mr.  Seabrook  usually  treat  your  sou?  Was  he 
kind  to  him?" 

"He  was  not  unkind.  Perhaps  you  cannot  understand 
such  a  character;  but  he  was  one  who  would  be  kind  to 
man,  w7oman,  or  child  who  would  be  governed  by  him;  yet 
resistance  to  his  will,  however  just,  roused  a  tyranny  that 
sought  for  opportunities, to  exhibit  itself.  Such  a  one  passes 
in  general  society  for  a  '  good  fellow,'  because  '  the  iron 
hand  in  the  velvet  glove'  is  scarcely  perceptible  there,  while 
its  ungloved  force  is  felt  most  heavily  in  the  relations  of 
private  life.  If  I  had  been  in  a  position  to  flatter  Mr.  Sea- 
brook,  undoubtedly  he  would  have  shown  me  a  correspond 
ing  consideration,  notwithstanding  his  selfishness.  It  would 
have  been  one  way  of  gratifying  his  own  vanity,  by  putting 
me  in  a  humor  to  pander  to  it.  But  knowing  how  I  hated 
and  despised  him,  he  felt  toward  me  all  the  rancor  of  his 
vain  and  tyrannical  nature.  It  is  always  more  dangerous 
to  hate  justly  than  unjustly,  and  that  is  the  reason  wn}T 
domestic  differences  are  so  bitter.  Somebody  has  always 
done  wrong  and  knows  it,  and  cannot  bear  to  suffer  the 
natural  consequences — the  disapprobation  of  the  injured 
party,  in  addition  to  the  stings  of  conscience." 

" I  suppose,  then,"  I  said,  "it  has  been  the  perception 
of  this  truth  that  has  caused  the  sweetest  and  purest  women 


56  THE  NEW  PENELOPE. 

in  all  time  to  ignore  the  baser  sins  of  man,  while  calling 
their  own  sex  to  strict  account.  And  yet  I  cannot  think 
but  that  this  degree  of  mercy  is  injurious  to  their  own 
purity  and  derogatory  to  their  dignity.  I  remember  be 
ing  excessively  shocked  several  years  ago  by  having  this 
trait  of  forgiveness  in  woman  placed  in  its  true  light  by 
an  accidental  publication  in  a  New  York  paper,  which  was 
intended  to  have  just  the  opposite  effect.  It  was  headed 
'A  Model  Woman/  and  appeared  in  the  En-iiiinj  Post 
—Bryant's  paper.  With  a  curious  desire  to  know  the 
poet's  model  for  a  woman — though  the  article  may  have 
never  come  under  his  eye — I  commenced  reading  it.  It  ran 
to  this  effect:  A  certain  man  in  New  York  had  a  good  wife 
and  two  interesting  little  children.  But  he  met  and  fell  in 
love  with  a  handsome,  dashing,  and  rather  coarse  girl;  and 
the  affair  had  gone  so  far  as  to  lead  to  serious  expostulation 
on  the  part  of  the  wife.  The  writer  did  not  relate  whether 
or  not  the  girl  knew  the  man  to  be  married;  but  only  that 
the  two  were  infatuated  with  each  other. 

"As  the  story  ran,  the  wife  expostulated,  and  the  hus 
band  was  firm  in  his  determination  to  possess  the  girl  at 
all  hazards,  concluding  his  declaration  with  this  business 
like  statement:  'I  shall  take  the  girl,  and  go  to  California. 
If  you  keep  quiet  about  it,  I  will  leave  a  provision  for  you 
and  the  children;  if  you  do  not,  I  shall  go  just  the  same, 
but  without  leaving  yon  anything.'  The  wife  acquiesced  in 
the  terms.  Her  husband  went  to  California  with  his  para 
mour,  and  tired  of  her  (it  was  in  old  steamer  times),  about 
as  soon  as  he  got  there.  Very  soon  he  deserted  her  and 
returned  to  New  York  a  la  prodigal,  and  was  received  back 
to  the  arms  of  his  forgiving  wife.  The  girl  followed  her 
faithless  lover  to  New  York,  and  failing  to  win  a  kind  word 
from  him  by  the  most  piteous  appeals,  finally  committed 
suicide  at  her  hotel  in  that  city.  The  wife  continued  to 
live  with  the  author  of  this  misery  upon  the  most  affec 
tionate  terms. 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  57 

"That  was  the  whole  story.  Is  it  possible,  I  asked  my 
self,  that  the  writer  of  that  article,  whoever  he  may  be, 
could  have  meant  its  title  in  anything  but  irony?  Yet, 
there  it  stood  on  the  front  page  of  a  most  respectable  jour 
nal,  indorsed  by  an  editor  of  the  highest  reputation.  To 
my  way  of  thinking,  the  wife  was  accessory  to  the  crime; 
had  no  womanly  self-respect,  no  delicacy,  no  Christian  feel 
ing  for  her  husband's  victim;  was,  in  short,  morally,  as 
guilty  as  he  was;  and  yet  a  newspaper  of  high  standing 
made  her  out  to  be  a  model  for  wives.  For  what?  Plainly 
for  consenting  to,  or  for  forgiving  three  of  the  most  heinous 
crimes  in  the  decalogue,  because  committed  bij  her  husband. 
I  confess  that  since  that  day  I  have  been  prone  to  examine 
into  the  claims  of  men  to  be  forgiven,  or  the  moral  right  of 
women  to  forgive  them  certain  offenses." 

"When  you  examine  into  the  motives  of  women/5  said 
Mrs.  Greyfield,  "I  think  you  will  find  there  is  a  large 
measure  of  sordid  self-interest  in  their  mercy,  as  in  the  case 
you  have  just  quoted.  While  some  women  are  so  weak, 
and  so  foolishly  fond  of  the  men  to  whom  they  became 
early  attached,  as  to  be  willing  to  overlook  everything  rather 
than  part  with  them;  a  far  greater  number  yield  an  un 
willing  submission  to  wrongs  imposed  upon  them,  simply 
because  they  do  not  know  how  to  do  without  the  pecuniary 
support  afforded  them  by  their  husbands.  The  bread-and- 
butter  question  is  demoralizing  to  women  as  well  as  to  men, 
the  difference  being  that  men  have  a  wider  field  to  be  de 
moralized  in;  and  that  the  demoralization  of  women  is 
greatly  consequent  upon  their  circumscribed  field  of  ac 
tion." 

"Do  you  think  that  the  enlargement  of  woman's  sphere 
of  work  would  have  a  tendency  to  elevate  her  moral  influ 


ence 


"  The  way  the  subject  presents  itself  to  me  is,  that  it  is 
degrading  to  have  sex  determine  everything  for  us:  our  em 
ployments,  our  position  in  society,  the  obedience  we  owe 


58  THE  NEW  PENELOPE. 

to  others,  the  influence  we  are  permitted  to  exercise,  all 
and  everything  to  be  dependent  upon  the  delicate  matter  of 
a  merely  physical  function.  It  affects  me  so  unpleasantly 
to  hear  such  frequent  reference  to  a  physiological  fact,  that 
I  have  often  wished  the  -word,  female  stricken  from  our  lit 
erature.  And  when  you  reflect,  that  we  are  born  and  bred 
to  this  narrow  view  of  ourselves,  as  altogether  the  creatures 
of  sex,  you  cannot  but  recognize  its  belittleiiig,  not  to  say 
depraving  effect,  or  fail  to  see  the  temptation;  we  have  to 
seize  any  base  advantage  it  may  give  us." 

When  we  had  canvassed  this,  to  us  interesting,  topic  a 
little  further,  I  begged  Mrs.  Greyfield  to  go  on  with  the 
relation  of  her  history. 

"  I  find  I  must  be  less  particular,"  she  said,  "  to  give  so 
many  and  frequent  explanations  of  my  feelings.  By  this 
time  you  can  pretty  well  imagine  them,  and  my  story  is 
likely  to  be  too  long,  unless  I  abbreviate. 

"  I  had  been  living  in  the  way  I  have  described,  for  two 
years,  and  had  learned  to  do  a  good  many  things  in  my 
own  defence,  very  disagreeable  to  me,  but  nevertheless  very 
useful.  I  had  gotten  a  little  money  together  by  asking  some 
of  my  boarders  for  pay  before  pa}T-day  came,  or  bjr  mak 
ing  such  remarks  as  prompted  them  to  hand  the  money  to 
me  instead  of  Mr.  Seabrook.  It  was  my  intention  to  save 
enough  in  such  ways  to  take  me  to  California,  where  I  felt 
confident,  with  the  experience  I  had  gained,  I  should  be 
able  to  make  myself  a  competence.  This  plan  I  had  nour 
ished  in  secret  for  more  than  a  year,  when  I  was  tempted 
to  do  a  very  unwise  thing. 

"I  ought  to  say,  perhaps,  that  with  every  year  tbat  had 
passed  since  my  arrival  in  Portland,  the  population  had 
increased,  and  with  this  increase  there  was  a  proportionate 
rise  in  the  value  of  property.  Hearing  business  topics  dis 
cussed  almost  every  day  at  table,  I  could  not  help  being 
more  or  less  infected  with  the  spirit  of  speculation;  and  it 
often  almost  drove  me  wild  to  think  how  profitably  I  might 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  59 

have  invested  my  earnings  could  I  Lave  gained  possession 
of  them  for  m}rself. 

"  Having  an  opportunity  one  day  to  speak  on  the  subject 
to  a  gentleman  in  whose  honor  I  placed  great  confidence, 
I  mentioned  that  I  was  tempted  to  buy  some  property,  but 
that  my  means  were  so  limited  I  feared  I  could  not  do  so. 
He  immediately  said  that  he  would  sell  me  a  certain  very 
good  piece  of  land  in  the  best  business  locality,  on  the  in 
stallment  plan,  and  at  a  bargain,  so  that  when  it  was  paid 
up  I  could  immediately  sell  again  at  an  advance.  Think 
ing  this  would  accelerate  the  carrying  out  of  my  scheme  of 
fleeing  from  my  master,  to  a  land  of  freedom,  I  eagerly  ac 
cepted  the  proposition,  and  paid  down  all  the  money  I  had, 
taking  a  bond  for  a  deed.  The  transaction  was  to  be  kept 
a  secret  between  us,  and  he  was  to  assist  me  in  selling  when 
it  came  the  proper  time,  by  deeding  direct  to  my  purchaser. 
I  felt  almost  light-hearted  in  view  of  the  fact  that  I  should 
be  able,  after  all,  to  achieve  a  kind  of  independence  in  the 
course  of  time." 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  I  said,  "that  I  should  have  grown 
reckless  before  this,  and  have  done  something  of  a  des 
perate  nature — committed  suicide,  for  instance.  Did  the 
thought  never  occur  to  you  to  end  your  bondage  in  that 
way?" 

"My  desperation  never  took  that  form,  because  I  had  my 
child  to  take  care  of.  If  I  killed  myself,  I  should  have  to 
kill  him,  too.  But  many  and  many  a  night  I  have  felt  it  so 
impossible  to  be  alive  in  the  morning,  and  go  right  on  in 
my  miserable  round  of  life,  worn  out  in  mind  and  body, 
with  Benton  always  ailing — often  very  ill,  that  I  have  pre 
pared  both  myself  and  him  for  burial,  and  laid  down  pray 
ing  God  to  take  us  both  before  another  day.  But  Death  is 
like  our  other  friends — he  is  not  at  hand  to  do  us  a  service 
when  most  desired. 

"  I  have  told  you  that  I  used  to  cry  a  good  deal.  Weep 
ing,  though  a  relief  to  us  in  one  way,  by  removing  the 


03  THE  XEW  PEX  ELOPE. 

pressure  upon  the  brain,  is  terribly  exhausting  when  exces 
sive,  and  I  was  very  much  wasted  by  it.  An  incident  oc 
curred  about  the  time  I  was  just  speaking*  of,  which  gave 
me  comfort  in  a  strange  manner.  I  used  sometimes,  when 
my  work  for  the  day  was  done,  to  leave  Benton  with  my 
German  friend,  and  go  out  for  a  walk,  or  to  call  on  an  ac 
quaintance.  All  the  sights  and  sounds  of  nature  are  beau 
tiful  and  beneficial  to  me  in  a  remarkable  degree.  "With 
trees  and  flowers  and  animals,  I  am  happy  and  at  home. 

"  One  evening  I  set  out  to  make  a  visit  to  Mrs.  -  — ,  my 
old  neighbor,  who  lived  at  some  distance  from  me.  The 
path  led  through  the  fir  forest,  and  at  the  time  of  day  when 
I  was  at  liberty,  was  dim  and  gloomy.  I  walked  hurriedly 
along,  fearing  darkness  would  overtake  me;  and  looking 
about  me  as  I  went,  was  snatching  a  hasty  pleasure  from 
the  contemplation  of  Nature's  beneficence,  when  my  foot 
caught  in  a  projecting  root  of  some  tough  shrub,  and  I  fell 
prostrate. 

"In  good  health  and  spirits  I  should  not  have  minded 
the  fall;  but  to  me,  in  my  weak  condition,  every  jar  to  the 
nervous  system  affected  me  seriously.  I  rose  with  diffi 
culty,  and  seating  myself  upon  a  fallen  trea,  burst  into 
tears,  and  wept  violently.  It  seemed  as  if  even  the  sticks 
and  stones  were  in  league  to  injure  me.  Looking  back 
upon  my  feelings,  I  can  understand  how  man,  in  the  in 
fancy  of  the  race,  attributed  power  and  will  to  everything 
in  Nature.  In  his  weakness  and  inexperience,  Nature  was 
too  strong  for  him,  and  bruised  him  continually. 

"As  I  sat  weeping  with  pain  and  an  impotent  resent 
ment,  a  clear  sweet  voice  spoke  to  me  out  of  the  dusky 
twilight  of  the  woods.  '  Don't  cry  so  much !'  it  said. 
Astonishment  dried  my  tears  instantly.  I  looked  about 
me,  but  no  one  was  near  ;  nor  any  sound  to  be  heard,  but 
the  peculiar  cry  of  a  bird  that  makes  itself  heard  in  the 
Oregon  woods  at  twilight  only.  A  calm  that  I  cannot 
explain  came  over  my  perturbed  spirit.  It  was  like  the 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  61 

heavenly  voices  heard  upon  the  earth  thousands  of  years 
ago,  in  its  power  to  move  the  heart.  It  may  make  you 
smile  for  me  to  say  so;  but  from  that  hour  I  regained 
a  degree  of  cheerfulness  that  I  had  not  felt  since  the  day 
of  my  marriage  to  Mr.  Seabrook.  I  did  not  go  to  Mrs. 

— 's  that  evening,  but  returned  home  and  went  to  my 
bed  without  putting  on  clothes  to  be  buried  in!  " 

"We  talked  for  a  little  of  well  attested  instances  of  sim 
ilar  incidents  of  the  seeming  supernatural.  Then  I  said: 

"  And  how  did  your  investment  turn  out  ?  " 

"  As  might  have  been  expected  by  a  more  worldly-wise 
person.  After  succeeding,  almost,  I  was  defeated  by  the 
selfishness  and  indifference  of  the  man  I  had  trusted  to  help 
me  through  with  it.  He  sold  out  his  property,  including 
that  bonded  to  me,  when  nearly  the  whole  indebtedness  was 
paid,  without  mentioning  his  design,  or  giving  me  an  op 
portunity  to  complete  the  purchase,  The  new  proprietor 
went  immediately  to  Mr.  Seabrook,  who,  delighted  with 
this  unexpected  piece  of  fortune,  borrowed  the  small 
amount  remaining  to  be  paid,  and  had  the  property  deeded 
to  himself.  A  short  time  after  he  sold,  it  at  a  handsome 
advance  on  the  price  I  paid  for  it,  and  I  had  never  one  dol 
lar  of  the  money.  The  entire  savings  of  the  whole  time  I 
had  been  in  a  really  profitable  business,  went  with  that  un 
lucky  venture." 

"  You  were  just  as  far  from  getting  to  California  as  ever? 
O,  what  outrageous  abuse  of  the  power  society  gives  men 
over  women!"  I  exclaimed  with  vehemence. 

"You  may  imagine  I  was  bitterly  disappointed.  The 
lesson  was  a  hard  one,  but  salutary.  I  took  no  more  disin 
terested  advice;  I  bought  no  more  property.  There  are 
too  many  agents  between  a  woman  and  the  thing  she  aims 
at,  for  her  ever  to  attain  it  without  danger  of  discomfiture. 
The  experience,  as  you  may  guess,  put  me  in  no  amicable 
mood  towards  Mr.  Seabrook.  Just  think  of  it!  There 
were  three  years  I  had  supported,  by  my  labor,  a  large 


62  THE  NEW  PENELOPE. 

family  of  men,  for  that  is  what  it  amounted  to.  My  money 
purchased  the  food  they  all  ate,  and  I  had  really  received 
nothing  for  it  except  my  board  and  the  clothes  I  worked 
in.  The  fault  was  not  theirs;  it  was  Mr.  Seabrook's  and 
society's." 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  you  remind  me  of,"  I  said:  "  You 
are  like  Penelope,  and  her  train  of  ravenous  suitors,  in  the 
Odyssey  of  Homer." 

"  In  my  busy  life,  I  have  not  had  time  to  read  Homer," 
Mrs.  Greyfield  replied;  "  but  if  any  other  woman  has  been 
so  eaten  out  of  house  and  home,  as  I  was,  I  am  sorry  for 
her." 

"  Homer's  Penelope,  if  we  may  believe  the  poet,  was  in 
much  better  circumstances  to  bear  the  ravages  of  her  riotous 
boarders,  than  you  were  to  feed  yours  gratuitously." 

"Talking  about  suitors,"  said  Mrs.  Greyfielcl,  "I  was 
not  without  those  entirely,  either.  No  young  mismated 
woman  can  escape  them  perhaps.  The  universal  opinion 
among  men  seems  to  be  that,  if  you  do  not  like  the  man 
you  have,  you  must  like  some  other  one;  and  each  one 
thinks  it  is  himself." 

The  piquant  tone  in  which  Mrs.  Greyfield  uttered  her 
observations  always  provoked  a  smile.  But  I  caught  at  an 
intimation  in  her  speech.  "Sometimes,"  I  said,  "you 
speak  as  if  you  acknowledged  Mr.  Seabrook  as  your  hus 
band,  and  it  shocks  me  unpleasantly." 

"I  am  speaking  of  things  as  they  appeared  to  others.  In 
truth,  I  was  as  free  to  receive  suitors  as  ever  I  had  been; 
but  such  was  not  the  common  understanding,  and  I  re 
sented  the  advances  of  men  upon  the  ground  that  they  be 
lieved  themselves  to  be  acting  unlawfully,  and  that  they 
hoped  to  make  me  a  party  to  their  breaches  of  law  and 
propriety.  I  laugh  now,  in  remembering  the  blunders  com 
mitted  by  self-conceit  so  long  ago;  but  I  did  not  laugh 
then;  it  was  a  serious  matter  at  that  time." 

"Was  Mr.  Seabrook  jealous  in  his  behavior,  fearing  you 
might  fancy  some  one  else?" 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  63 

"Just  as  jealous  as  vain  and  tyrannical  men  always  are 
when  they  are  thwarted  in  their  designs.  No  real  husband 
could  have  been  more  critical  in  his  observations  on  his 
wife's  deportment,  than  he  was  in  his  remarks  on  mine.  If 
I  could  have  been  guilty  of  coquetry,  the  desire  to  annoy 
him  would  have  been  incentive  enough;  but  I  always  con 
sidered  that  I  could  not  afford  to  suffer  in  my  own  estima 
tion  for  the  sake  of  punishing  him.  When  I  recall  all 
these  things,  I  take  credit  to  myself  for  magnanimity; 
though  then  I  was  governed  only  by  my  poor  uncultivated 
judgment,  and  my  impulses.  For  instance,  Mr.  Seabrook 
fell  ill  of  a  fever  not  long  after  he  appropriated  my  real 
estate.  Of  course,  I  wras  as  bitter  towards  him  in  my  heart 
as  it  is  possible  to  conceive,  but  I  could  not  know  that  he 
was  lying  unattended  in  his  room,  without  offering  assist 
ance;  so,  after  many  struggles  with  myself  to  overcome  my 
strong  repulsion,  I  visited  him  often  enough  to  give  him 
such  attentions  as  were  necessary,  but  not  more.  I  had  no 
intention  of  raising  any  false  expectations." 

' '  I  hope  you  took  advantage  of  his  being  confined  to  his 
room,  to  collect  board-money,"  I  said. 

"I  found  out,  iii  time,  several  ways  of  managing  that 
matter,  which  I  would  once  have  thought  inadmissible. 
When  I  had  begged  some  money  from  a  boarder,  Mr.  Sea- 
brook  discovered  it  when  payday  came,  very  naturally.  He 
then  ordered  me  to  do  the  marketing.  Without  paying 
any  attention  to  the  command,  I  served  up  at  meal-time 
whatever  there  was  in  the  house.  This  brought  out  mur 
murs  from  the  boarders,  and  haughty  inquiries  from  the 
host  himself.  All  the  reply  I  vouchsafed  was,  that  what 
he  procured  I  would  cook.  In  this  way  I  forced  him  to 
pay  out  the  money  in  his  possession,  at  the  expense  of  my 
character  as  a  good  wife,  and  a  polite  one.  He  took  his 
revenge  in  abusive  language,  and  occasional  fits  of  destruc- 
tiveness  in  the  kitchen,  which  alarmed  my  little  German 
neighbor  more  than  it  did  me.  So  long  as  he  secured  all 


64  THE  NEW  1' EX  ELOPE. 

my  earnings,  and  deceived  people  thoroughly  as  to  his  real 
conduct,  he  maintained,  before  others  at  least,  a  gentle 
manly  demeanor.  But  this  was  gradually  giving  way  to 
the  pressure  of  a  constant  thorn  in  his  flesh,  and  the  con 
sciousness  of  his  own  baseness.  He  could  swear,  threaten, 
and  almost  strike  at  slight  provocation  now.  He  never 
really  attempted  the  latter,  but  once,  and  it  was  then  I  told 
him  I  should  shoot  him,  if  he  dared  it. 

"  I  ought  to  say  here,  that  in  the  last  year  I  had  two  or 
three  families  in  the  house  for  a  short  time.  I  don't  know 
what  these  real  wives  thought  of  me;  that  I  was  a  terma 
gant  probably;  but  they  were  not  the  kind  of  women  I 
could  talk  to  about  myself,  and  I  made  no  confidences.  A 
plan  was  maturing  in  my  mind  that  was  to  make  it  a  matter 
of  indifference  what  any  one  thought.  I  had  relinquished 
the  idea  of  getting  money  enough  together  to  make  a  sure 
start  in  California,  and  was  only  waiting  to  have  enough 
to  take  me  out  of  the  country  in  any  way  that  I  could  go 
cheapest.  Another  necessary  point  to  gain  was  secrecy. 
That  could  not  be  gained  while  I  was  surrounded  by 
boarders,  nor  while  Mr.  Seabrook  was  in  the  house,  and  I 
resolved  to  be  rid  of  both." 

"Oh,"  I  cried,  delighted  and  relieved,  "how  did  you 
manage  that?" 

"  I  am  going  to  tell  you  by  how  simple  an  expedient.  / 
starred  ilie.in  out !" 

"How  strange  that  in  all  those  years  you  never  thought 
of  that/'  I  said  laughing.  "But,  then,  neither  did  Homer's 
heroine,  wlio  kept  a  first-class  free  boarding  house  for  twice 
or  thrice  as  long  as  you.  Do  tell  me  how  you  accomplished 
the  feat  of  clearing  your  house." 

"  It  is  not  quite  true  that  I  had  not  thought  of  it;  but  I 
had  not  dared  to  do  it.  Besides,  I  wanted  to  get  some 
money,  if  possible.  Perhaps  I  should  not  have  done  it  at 
the  time  I  did,  had  not  a  little  help  come  to  me  in  the  shape 
of  real  friends.  I  was  all  the  time  like  a  wild  bird  in  a 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  65 

cage,  and  the  continual  attempts  to  escape  I  was  making, 
only  bruised  my  wings.  It  occurred  to  me  one  day  to  go 
to  a  certain  minister  who  had  lately  come  to  Portland,  and 
whose  looks  pleased  me,  as  did  his  wife's,  and  tell  them 
my  story.  This  I  did. 

"Instead  of  receiving  it  as  fiction,  or  doubting  the 
strange  parts  of  it  in  a  wa}r  to  make  me  wish  I  had  never 
spoken  of  them,  they  manifested  the  greatest  interest  and 
sympathy,  and  promised  me  any  assistance  they  could  give. 
This  was  the  first  recognition  I  had  gotten  from  anyone  as 
being  what  I  was;  a  woman  held  in  bondage  worse  than 
that  of  African  slavery,  by  a  man  to  whom  she  owed  noth 
ing,  and  in  the  midst  of  a  free,  civilized,  and  Christian  com 
munity.  They  were  really  and  genuinely  shocked,  and 
firmly  determined  to  help  me.  I  told  them  all  the  difficul 
ties  in  the  way,  and  of  the  expedient  I  had  almost  decided 
upon,  to  free  my  house  from  every  one;  for  I  thought  that 
when  his  income  stopped,  Mr.  Seabrook  would  be  forced 
to  go  away,  and  seek  some  other  means  of  living.  They 
agreed  with  me  that  there  appeared  no  better  way,  and  I 
decided  to  attempt  it. 

"It  did  not  take  long,  of  course,  to  drive  away  the 
boarders,  for  they  were  there  only  to  eat;  and  when  pro 
visions  entirely  failed,  or  were  uncooked,  there  was  nothing 
to  be  clone  but  to  go  where  they  could  be  better  served.  I 
did  not  feel  very  comfortable  over  it,  as  many  of  them  were 
men  I  liked  and  respected,  whose  ill  opinion  it  was  disa 
greeable  to  incur,  even  in  a  righteous  cause;  and  then  no 
woman  likes  to  be  the  talk  of  the  town,  as  I  knew  I  must 
be.  The  '  town  talk,'  as  it  happened,  in  time  suggested  my 
further  course  to  me. 

"  Pray  tell  me  if  Mr.  Seabrook  followed  the  boarders,  or 
did  he  stay  and  compel  you  to  cook  for  him  ?  " 

"  He  stayed,  but  he  did  not  compel  me  to  cook  for  him. 
That  I  peremptorily  refused  to  do.  Neither  would  I  buy 
any  supplies.  If  he  wanted  a  meal,  he  must  go  out,  get 


66  THE  NEW  PENELOPE. 

his  provisions,  and  cook  them  for  himself.  Then  he  refused 
to  buy  anything-  to  come  in  the  house,  lest  I  should  share 
his  plenty.  This  reduced  our  rations  to  nothing.  I  used 
to  take  Benton  out  and  buy  him  good,  wholesome  food,  my 
self  eating  as  little  as  would  support  nature.  Occasionally, 
now  that  I  had  time  on  my  hands,  I  spent  a  day  out  among 
my  few  visiting  acquaintances;  and  sometimes  I  took  a 
meal  with  my  German  friend.  In  this  way  I  compelled  my 
former  master  to  look  out  for  himself. 

"  One  night,  there  not  being  a  mouthful  in  the  house  to 
eat,  I  went  out  and  bought  a  loaf  of  bread  and  some  milk 
for  Ben  ton's  breakfast;  for  I  was  careful  not  to  risk  the 
child's  health  as  I  risked  my  own.  In  the  morning  when  I 
came  down  stairs  the  bread  and  milk  were  gone.  Mr.  Sea- 
brook  had  breakfasted.  c  Bennie '  and  I  could  go  hungry. 
And  that  brings  me  back  to  what  '  town  talk '  did  for  me. 

"It  soon  became  noised  about  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sea- 
brook,  who  had  never  got  on  well  together,  were  now  going 
on  dreadfully,  and  that  probably  there  would  be  a  divorce. 
'Divorce!'  I  said,  when  my  new  friend,  the  minister, 
mentioned  it  to  me,  'divorce  from  what?  How  can  there 
be  a  divorce  where  there  is  no  marriage?"  '  Nevertheless/ 
he  replied,  '  it  is  worth  considering.  If  the  society  you  live 
in  insist  that  you  are  married,  why  not  gratify  this  society, 
and  ask  its  leave  to  be  legally  separated  from  your  nominal 
husband  ? ' 

"At  first  I  rebelled  strongly  against  making  this  tacit 
admission  of  a  relationship  of  that  kind  to  Mr.  Seabrook. 
It  appeared  to  me  to  be  a  confession  of  falsehood  to  those 
few  persons  who  were  in  my  confidence,  some  of  whom  I 
felt  had  always  half-doubted  the  full  particulars,  as  being 
too  ugly  for  belief.  And  what  Avas  quite  as  unpalatable  as 
the  other  was  that  my  enemy  would  rejoice  that  for  once, 
at  least,  and  in  a  public  record,  I  should  have  to  confess 
myself  his  wife.  My  friends  argued  that  it  could  make 
little  difference,  as  that  was  the  popular  understanding 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  67 

already,  which  nothing  could  alter;  and  that  so  far  as  Mr. 
Seabrook  was  concerned  his  triumph  would  be  short-lived 
and  valueless.  They  undertook  to  procure  counsel,  and 
stand  by  me  through  the  trial." 

"What  complaint  did  you  purpose  making?''  I  inter 
rupted. 

"  'Neglect  of  support,  and  cruel  treatment;'  the  general 
charge  that  is  made  to  cover  so  many  abominable  sins,  be 
cause  we  women  shrink  from  exposing  the  crimes  we  have 
been  in  a  measure  partners  to.  My  attorney  assured  me 
that,  under  the  circumstances,  Mr.  Seabrook  would  not 
make  any  opposition,  fearing  we  might  prove  the  whole,  if 
he  did  so;  but  would  let  the  case  go  by  default.  This  was 
just  what  he  did;  and  oh,  you  should  have  witnessed  his 
abject  humility  when  I  at  last  had  the  acknowledged  right 
to  put  him  out  of  my  house  ! 

"  Up  to  the  time  the  divorce  was  obtained,  he  kept  pos 
session  of  the  room  he  had  first  taken,  on  the  lower  floor, 
and  which  I  hired  an  Indian  woman  to  take  care  of  as  one 
of  the  chores  assigned  her  about  the  house.  For  myself, 
I  would  not  set  my  foot  in  it,  except  on  the  occasions  re 
ferred  to;  but  the  rent,  and  the  care  of  it,  he  had  free. 
Such  was  the  moral  degradation  of  the  man,  through  his 
own  acts,  that  after  all  that  had  passed,  he  actually  cried, 
and  begged  of  me  the  privilege  to  remain  in  that  room, 
and  be  taken  care  of,  as  he  had  been  used  to  be." 

"  What  did  you  answer  him  ?" 

"I  told  him  never  to  darken  my  door — never  to  offend 
my  sight  again;  that  I  should  never  be  quite  happy  while 
his  head  was  above  the  sod.  O,  I  was  very  vindictive! 
And  he  was  as  mild  as  milk.  He  '  could  not  see  why  I 
should  hate  him  so,  who  had  always  had  so  high  a  regard 
for  me.  He  had  never  known  a  woman  he  admired  and 
loved  so  much  !'  Even  I  was  astonished  at  the  man's  ab- 
jectness." 

"It   is   not   uncommon   in   similar   cases.     Dependence 


68  THE  NEW  PENELOPE. 

makes  any  one  more  or  less  mean;  but  it  is  more  noticeable 
in  men,  who  by  nature  and  by  custom  are  made  independ 
ent.  And  so  you  were  free  at  last  ?" 

"  Free  and  happy.  I  felt  as  light  as  a  bird,  and  won 
dered  I  couldn't  fly  !  I  was  poor;  but  that  was  nothing. 
My  business  was  broken  up;  but  I  felt  confidence  in  myself 
to  begin  again.  My  health,  however,  was  very  much 
broken  down,  and  my  friends  said  I  needed  change.  That, 
with  the  desire  to  quit  a  country  where  I  had  suffered  so 
much,  determined  me  to  come  to  California.  It  was  the 
land  of  promise  to  my  husband— the  El  Dorado  he  was 
seeking  when  he  died.  I  ahvays  felt  that  if  I  had  come 
here  in  the  first  place,  my  life  would  have  been  very  differ 
ent.  So,  finally,  with  the  help  of  my  kind  friends  I  came." 

"  /should  have  felt,  with  your  experience,  no  courage  to 
undertake  life  among  strangers,  and  they  mostly  men." 

"On  the  contrary,  I  felt  armed  in  almost  every  point. 
The  fact  of  being  a  divorced  wroman  wras  my  only  annoy 
ance;  but  I  was  resolved  to  suppress  it  so  far  as  I  was  able, 
and  to  represent  myself  to  be,  as  I  was,  the  widow  of  Mr. 
Greyfield.  I  took  letters  from  my  friends,  to  use  in  case 
of  need;  and  with  nothing  but  my  child,  and  money -enough 
to  take  me  comfortably  to  the  mines  on  the  American 
River,  left  Oregon  forever." 

"  To  behold  you  as  you  are  now,  in  this  delightful  home, 
it  seems  impossible  that  you  should  have  gone  through  what 
you  describe;  and  yet  there  must  have  been  much  more  be 
fore  you  achieved  the  success  here  indicated/' 

"  It  was  nothing — nothing  at  all  compared  with  the  other. 
I  proceeded  direct  to  the  most  populous  mining  town,  hired 
a  house,  bought  furniture  on  credit,  and  took  boarders 

again.     I  kept  only  first-class  boarders,  had  high  prices 

and  succeeded." 

"  Did  you  never  have  the  mining-stock  fever,  and  invest 
and  lose?" 

"  Not  to  any  dangerous  extent.     One  or  two  parties,  in 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  69 

whose  judgment  I  knew  I  might  confide,  indicated  to  me 
where  to  invest,  and  I  fortunately  lost  nothing,  while  I 
made  a  little.  My  best  mining-stock  was  a  present  from  a 
young  man  who  was  sick  at  jny  house  for  a  long  time,  and 
to  whom  I  was  attentive.  He  was  an  excellent  young  fel 
low,  and  my  sympathies  were  drawn  out  towards  him; 
alone  in  a  mining-camp,  and  sick,  and,  as  I  suspected, 
moneyless.  When  he  was  well  enough  to  go  away,  he  con 
fessed  his  inability  to  pay  up,  and  presented  me  with  several 
shares  in  a  mine  then  but  little  known;  saying  that  it  might 
not  be  worth  the  paper  it  was  printed  on,  but  that  he  hoped 
it  might  bring  enough  to  reimburse  my  actual  outlay  on 
his  account;  'the  kindness  he  had  received  could  not  be 
repaid  with  filthy  lucre/  A  few  months  afterwards  that 
stock  was  worth  several  thousand  dollars.  I  made  diligent 
inquiry  for  my  young  friend,  but  could  get  no  news  of  him 
from  that  day  to  this.  I  have  been  fortunate  in  everything 
I  have  touched  since  I  came  to  California.  Benton  grew 
well  and  strong;  I  recovered  my  health;  Fortune's  wheel 
for  me  seemed  to  remain  in  one  happy  position;  and  now 
there  seems  nothing  for  me  to  do  but  to  move  slowly  and 
easily  down  the  sunset  slope  of  life  to  my  final  rest." 

Mrs.  Grey  field  smiled  and  sighed,  and  remarked  upon 
the  fact  that  the  hour-hand  of  the  clock  pointed  to  two  in 
the  morning.  "It  is  really  unkind  of  me  to  keep  you  out 
of  bed  until  such  an  hour  as  this,"  she  said,  laughing  a 
little,  as  if  we  had  only  been  talking  of  ordinary  things. 
"But  I  am  in  the  mood,  like  the  'Ancient  Mariner;'  and 
you  are  as  much  forced  to  listen  as  the  '  Wedding  Guest.'" 

"There  is  one  thing  yet  I  desire  to  be  satisfied  about," 
I  replied.  "  As  a  woman,  I  cannot  repress  my  curiosity  to 
know  whether,  since  all  the  troubles  of  your  early  life  have 
been  past,  you  have  desired  to  marry  again.  Opportunities 
I  know  you  must  have  had.  What  I  want  to  be  informed 
about  is  your  feeling  upon  this  subject,  and  whether  any 
man  has  been  able  to  fill  your  eye  or  stir  your  heart." 


70  THE  NEW  PENELOPE. 

The  first  smile  iny  question  called  up  died  away,  and  an 
introspective  look  came  over  Mrs.  Greyfield's  still  hand 
some  face.  She  sut  silent  for  a  little  time,  that  seemed 
long  to  me,  for  I  was  truly  interested  in  her  reply. 

"  I  think,"  she  said  at  last,  "  that  women  who  have  had 
anything  like  my  experience,  are  unfitted  for  married  life. 
Either  they  are  ruined  morally  and  menially,  by  the  terri 
ble  pressure;  or  they  become  so  sharp-sighted  and  critical 
that  no  ordinary  man  would  be  able  to  win  their  confidence. 
I  believe  in  marriage;  a  single  life  has  an  incomplete,  one 
sided  aspect,  and  is  certainly  lonely."  Then  rallying,  with 
much  of  her  usual  brightness:  "  Undoubtedly  I  have  had 
my  times  of  doubt,  when  I  found  it  hard  to  understand 
myself;  and  still,  here  I  am!  Nobody  wrould  have  me;  or 
I  would  not  have  anybody;  or  both." 

"  One  more  question,  then,  if  it  is  a  fair  one:  Could  you 
love  again  the  husband  of  your  youth;  or  has  your  ideal 
changed  ?  " 

Mrs.  Gre}rfield  was  evidently  disturbed  by  the  inquiry. 
Her  countenance  altered,  and  she  hesitated  to  reply. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  I  said;  "  I  hope  you  will  not  an 
swer  me,  if  I  have  been  impertinent." 

"That  is  a  question  I  never  asked  myself,"  she  finally 
replied.  "My  husband  was  all  in  all  to  me  during  our 
brief  married  life.  His  death  left  me  truly  desolate,  and 
his  memory  sacred.  But  we  were  both  young,  and  proba 
bly  he  may  have  been  unformed  in  character,  to  a  great 
degree,  as  well  as  myself.  How  he  would  seem  now,  if  he 
could  be  restored  to  me  as  he  was  then,  I  can  only  half 
imagine.  What  he  would  now  be,  if  he  had  lived  on,  I  can 
not  at  all  imagine.  But  let  us  now  go  take  a  wink  of  sleep. 
My  eyelids  at  last  begin  to  feel  dry  and  heavy;  and  you,  I 
am  sure,  are  perishing  under  the  tortures  of  resistance  to 
the  drowsy  god." 

"  The  storm  is  over,"  I  said.  "  I  thought  you  felt  that 
something  was  going  to  happen!  " 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  71 

"  It  will  be  breakfast,  I  suppose.  By  the  way,  I  must  go 
and  put  a  note  under  Jane's  door,  telling  her  not  to  have  it 
before  half-past  nine.  There  will  be  a  letter  from  Benton, 
by  the  morning  mail.  Good  night;  or,  good  morning,  and 
sweet  slumber." 

"  God  be  with  you,"  I  responded,  and  in  twenty  minutes 
was  sleeping  soundly. 

Not  so  my  hostess,  it  seems,  for  when  we  met  again  at 
our  ten  o'clock  breakfast,  she  looked  pale  and  distraught, 
and  acknowledged  that  she  had  not  been  able  to  compose 
herself  after  our  long  talk.  The  morning  was  clear  and 
sunny,  but  owing  to  the  storm  of  the  night,  the  mail  was 
late  getting  in,  a  circumstance  which  gave  her,  as  I 
thought,  a  degree  of  uneasiness  not  warranted  by  so 
natural  a  delay. 

"  You  know  I  told  you,"  she  said,  trying  to  laugh  off  her 
nervousness,  "that  something  was  going  to  happen!" 

"  It  would  be  a  strange  condition  of  things  where  nothing 
did  happen/' I  answered;  and  just  then  the  horn  of  the 
mail-carrier  sounded,  and  the  lumbering  four-horse  coach 
rattled  down  the  street  in  sight  of  our  windows. 

"There,"  I  said,  "is  your  II.  S.  M.  safe  and  sound, 
road -agents  and  land-slides  to  the  contrary  and  of  no 
effect." 

Very  soon  our  letters  were  brought  us,  and  my  hostess, 
excusing  herself,  retired  to  her  room  to  read  hers.  Two 
hours  later  she  sent  for  me  to  come  to  her.  I  found  her 
lying  with  a  wet  handkerchief  folded  over  her  forehead  and 
eyes.  A  large  and  thick  letter  laid  half  open  upon  a  table 
beside  the  bed. 

"  Eead  that,"  she  said,  without  uncovering  her  eyes. 
When  I  had  read  the  letter,  "My  dear  friend,"  I  said, 
"what  are  you  going  to  do?  I  hope,  after  all,  this  may  be 
good  news." 

"  What  can  I  do?     What  a  strange  situation !" 

"You  will  wish  to  see  him,  I  suppose?     'Arthur  Grey- 


72  THE  NEW  PENELOPE. 

fied.'  You  never  told  me  his  name  was  Arthur,"  I  remarked, 
thinking  to  weaken  the  intensity  of  her  feelings  by  refer 
ring  to  a  trifling  circumstance. 

"  Why  have  I  not  died  before  this  time?"  she  exclaimed, 
unheeding  my  attempt  at  diversion.  "  This  is  too  much, 
too  much !" 

"  Perhaps  there  is  still  happiness  in  store  for  you,  my 
dear  Mrs.  Greyfield,"  I  said.  "  Strange  as  is  this  new  dis 
pensation,  may  there  not  be  a  blessing  in  it  ?  " 

She  remained  silent  a  long  time,  as  if  thinking  deeply. 
"  He  has  a  daughter,"  she  at  length  remarked;  "  and  Ben- 
ton  says  she  is  very  sweet  and  loveable." 

"And  motherless,"  I  added,  not  without  design.  I  had 
meant  only  to  arouse  a  feeling  of  compassion  for  a  young 
girl  half-orphaned;  but  something  more  than  was  in  my 
mind  had  been  suggested  to  hers.  She  quickly  raised  her 
self  from  a  reclining  posture,  threw  off  the  concealing 
handkerchief,  and  gazed  intently  in  my  face,  while  saying 
slowly,  as  if  to  herself:  "  Not  only  motherless,  but  accord 
ing  to  law,  fatherless." 

"  Precisely,"  I  answered.  "  Her  mother  was  in  the  same 
relation  to  Mr.  Greyfield,  that  you  were  in  to  Mr.  Seabrook; 
but  happily  she  did  not  know  it  in  her  lifetime." 

"  Nor  he — nor  he!  Arthur  Greyfield  is  not  to  be  spoken 
of  in  the  same  breath  with  Mr.  Seabrook." 

The  spirit  with  which  this  vindication  of  her  former  hus 
band  was  made,  caused  me  to  smile,  in  spite  of  the  dra 
matic  interest  of  the  situation.  The  smile  did  not  escape 
her  notice. 

"You  think  I  am  blown  about  by  every  contending 
breath  of  feeling,"  she  said,  wearily;  "when  the  truth  is, 
I  am  trying  to  make  out  the  right  of  a  case  in  which  there 
is  so  much  wrong;  and  it  is  no  easy  thing  to  do." 

"But  you  will  find  the  right  of  it  at  last,"  I  answered. 
"You  are  not  called  upon  to  decide  in  a  moment  upon  a 
matter  of  such  weight  as  this.  Take  time,  take  rest,  take 
counsel." 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  73 

"  Will  you  read  the  letter  over  to  me?"  she  asked,  lying 
down  again,  and  preparing  to  listen  by  shielding  her  face 
with  her  hands. 

The  letter  of  Arthur  Greyfield  ran  as  follows : 

"My  DEAII  ANNA:  How  strange  it  seems  to  me  to  be 
writing  to  you  again!  It  is  like  conversing  with  one  re 
turned  from  another  world,  to  you,  too,  no  doubt.  There 
is  so  much  to  explain,  and  some  things  that  perhaps  will 
not  ever  be  explained  satisfactorily  to  you,  that  I  know  not 
Avhere  to  begin  or  what  to  say.  Still  Benton  insists  on  my 
writing  before  seeing  you,  and  perhaps  this  is  best. 

"  To  begin  at  the  beginning.  When  I  was  left  for  dead 
by  my  frightened  comrades  on  the  plains,  I  had  not  died, 
but  was  only  insensible;  and  I  do  not  believe  they  felt  at 
all  sure  of  my  death,  for  they  left  me  unburied,  as  if  to 
give  me  a  chance;  and  deserted  me  rather  than  take  any 
risks  by  remaining  any  longer  in  that  place.  How  long  I 
laid  insensible  I  do  not  know.  When  I  came  to  myself  I 
was  alone,  well  wrapped  up  in  a  large  bed-quilt,  and  lying 
on  the  ground  close  by  the  wagon-trail.  Nothing  was  left 
for  my  support,  if  alive,  from  which  I  concluded  that  they 
agreed  to  consider  me  dead. 

"  When  I  opened  my  eyes  again  on  the  wilderness  world 
about  me,  the  sun  was  shining  brightly,  and  the  wind 
blowing  cool  from  the  near  mountains;  but  I  was  too  much 
exhausted  to  stir;  and.  laid  there,  kept  alive  by  the  pure  air 
alone,  until  sunset.  About  that  time  of  clay  I  heard  the 
tread  of  cattle  coming,  and  the  rumbling  of  wagons.  The 
shock  of  joy  caused  me  to  faint,  in  which  condition  I  was 
found  by  the  advance  guard  of  a  large  train  bound  for  the 
mines  in  California.  I  need  not  tell  you  all  those  men  did 
for  me  to  bring  me  round,  but  they  were  noble  fellows,  and 
earned  my  everlasting  gratitude. 

"You  can  imagine  that  the  first  thought  in  my  mind 
was  about  you  and  Benton.  When  I  was  able  to  talk 
about  myself  and  answer  questions,  my  new  friends,  who 
had  laid  by  for  a  couple  of  days  on  my  account,  assured 
me  that  they  should  be  able  to  overtake  the  California 
train,  in  which  I  supposed  you  were,  before  they  came  to 
the  Sierras.  But  we  had  accidents  and  dela}*s,  and  failed 
to  come  up  with  that  train  anywhere  on  the  route. 

"  At  last  we  arrived  in  the  mining  country,  and  my 
new  friends  speedily  scattered  abroad,  looking  for  gold. 


74  THE  NEW  PENELOPE. 

I  was  still  too  feeble  to  work  in  the  water,  washing  out,  or 
to  dig.  I  had  no  money  or  property  of  any  kind,  and  was 
obliged  to  accept  any  means  that  offered  of  earning  a  sub 
sistence.  Meanwhile  I  made  such  inquiry  as  I  could  under 
the  circumstances,  and  in  such  a  country,  but  without 
learning  anything  of  any  of  my  former  friends  and  ac 
quaintances,  for  two  years.  Before  this  time,  however,  my 
health  was  restored,  notwithstanding  great  hardships;  and 
being  quite  successful  in  mining,  I  was  laying  up  consid 
erable  gold-dust. 

"About  this  time  a  man  came  into  our  camp  from 
Oregon.  As  I  was  in  the  habit  of  inquiring  of  any  new 
comer  concerning  you,  and  the  people  in  the  train  you 
were  in,  I  asked  this  man  if  he  had  ever  met  a  Mrs.  Grey- 
field,  or  any  of  the  ethers.  He  replied  that  he  thought 
there  was  a  woman  of  my  name  living  in  Portland,  Oregon, 
a  year  or  two  before — he  was  sure  he  had  heard  of  a  young 
widow  of  that  name.  I  immediately  wrote  to  you  at  that 
place  ;  but  whether  the  letter  was  lost  on  the  way,  or 
whether  it  was  intercepted  there  (as  by  some  intimations  I 
have  from  Benton,  it  might  have  been),  no  reply  ever  came 

to  it.  I  also  sent  a  letter  to  Mr. ,  in  wrhose  care  1  had 

left  you,  but  nothing  was  ever  heard  from  him. 

"When  I  had  waited  a  reasonable  length  of  time  I 
wrote  again  to  the  postmaster  of  the  same  place,  asking 
him  if  he  knew  of  such  a  person  as  Mrs.  Greyfield,  in 
Oregon.  The  reply  came  this  time  from  a  man  named 
Seabrook,  who  said  that  there  had  been  a  woman  of  the 
name  of  Greyfield  in  Portland  at  one  time,  but  that  both 
she  and  her  child  were  dead.  This  news  put  an  end  to 
inquiries  in  that  direction,  though  I  continued  to  look  for 
any  one  who  might  have  known  you,  and  finally  found  one 
of  our  original  party,  who  confirmed  the  intelligence  of 
your  having  gone  to  Oregon  instead  of  California,  and  so 
settled  the  question,  as  I  supposed,  forever. 

"  You.  may  wonder,  dear  Anna,  that  I  did  not  go  to 
Oregon  when  I  had  the  barest  suspicion  of  your  being 
there.  The  distance  and  the  trouble  of  getting  there  were 
not  what  deterred  me.  I  was  making  money  where  I  was, 
and  did  not  wish  to  abandon  my  claim 'while  it  was  pro 
ducing  well,  for  an  uncertain  hint  that  might  mislead 
me." 

"Stop  there!"  interrupted   Mrs.    Greyfield.     "Do  you 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  75 

think  /  should  have  hesitated  in  a  case  like  that?  But 
go  on/3 

"  I  knew  you  had  considerable  property,  and  thought  I 
knew  you  were  with  friends  who  would  not  let  you  suffer — 

"Though  they  had  abandoned  him  while  still  alive,  in 
the  wilderness!  Beg  pardon;  please  go  on  again. "- 

"And  that  Oregon  was  really  a  more  comfortable,  and 
safe  place  for  a  family  than  "California,  as  times  were 
then — 

Mrs.  Greyfield  groaned. 

"  And  that  you,  if  there,  would  do  very  well  until  I  could 
come  for  you.  I  could  not  suspect  that  you  would  avail 
yourself  of  the  privilege  of  widowhood  within  so  short  a 
time,  if  ever/' 

"Oh!"  ejaculated  my  listener,  with  irrepressible  impa 
tience. 

I  read  on  without  appearing  to  observe  the  interruption. 

"  To  tell  the  truth,  I  had  not  thought  of  myself  as  dead, 
and  that  is  probably  where  I  made  the  greatest  mistake.  It 
did  not  occur  to  me,  that  you  were  thinking  of  yourself  as 
a  widow;  therefore,  I  did  not  realize  the  risk.  But  when 
the  news  came  of  your  death,  if  it  were  really  you,  as  I 
finally  made  up  my  mind  it  must  be — 

An  indignant  gesture,  accompanied  by  a  sob,  expressed 
Mrs.  Grey-field's  state  of  feeling  on  this  head. 

"  I  fell  into  a  state  of  confirmed  melancholy,  reproaching 
myself  severely  for  not  having  searched  the  continent  over 
before  stopping  to  dig  gold!  though  it  was  for  you  I  was 
digging  it,  and  our  dear  boy,  whom  I  believed  alive  and 
well,  somewhere,  until  1  received  Mr.  Seabrook's  letter. 

"  My  dear  Anna,  I  come  now  to  that  which  will  try  your 
feelings;  but  you  must  keep  in  view  that  I  have  the  same 
occasion  for  complaint.  Having  made  a  comfortable  for 
tune,  and  feeling  miserable  about  you  and  the  boy,  I  con 
cluded  to  return  to  the  Atlantic  States,  to  visit  my  old 
home.  While  there  I  met  a  lovely  and  excellent  girl,  who 
consented  to  be  my  wife,  and  I  was  married  the  second 
time.  We  had  one  child,  a  girl,  now  eighteen  years  of  age; 
and  then  my  wife  died.  I  mourned  her  sincerely,  but  not 
more  so  than  I  had  mourned  you. 


76  THE  NEW  PENELOPE. 

"  At  last,  after  all  these  years,  news  came  of  you  from  a 
reliable  source.  The  very  man  to  whose  charge  I  commit 
ted  you  when  I  expected  to  die,  returned  to  the  States,  and 
from  him  I  heard  of  }rour  arrival  in  Oregon,  your  marriage, 
and  your  subsequent  divorce.  Painful  as  this  last  news 
was  to  my  feelings,  I  set  out  immediately  for  California  (I 
had  learned  from  him  that  you  were  probably  in  this  State), 
and  commenced  inquiries.  An  advertisement  of  mine  met 
Benton's  eye  only  two  days  ago,  and  you  may  imagine  my 
pleasure  at  the  discovery  of  my  only  and  dear  son,  so  long 
lost  to  me.  He  is  a  fine,  manly  fellow,  and  good;  for  which 
I  have  to  thank  you,  of  course." 

"You  see,  he  appropriates  Bentoii  at  once.  Never  so 
much  as  '  by  your  leave.'  But  Benton  will  not  quit  me  to 
follow  this  new-found  father,"  Mrs.  Greyfield  said,  with 
much  feeling. 

"He  may  not  be  put  to  the  test  of  a  choice.  You  have 
a  proposition  to  consider,"  I  replied.  "Let  me  read  it." 

"  No,  no!     Yet,  read  it;  what  do  I  care?     Go  on. 

"  My  daughter,  Nellie,  is  the  very  picture  of  her  mother, 
and  as  sweet  and  good  as  one  could  desire.  Benton  seems 
to  be  delighted  with  her  for  a  sister.  And  now  that  the 
young  folks  have  taken  such  a  fancy  to  each  other,  there  is 
something  that  I  wish  to  propose  to  you.  It  cannot  be  ex 
pected,  after  all  that  has  passed,  and  with  the  lapse  of  so 
many  years,  we  could  meet  as  if  nothing  had  come  be 
tween  us — 

"Who  suffered  all  this  to  come  between  us?"  cried  Mrs. 
Greyfield,  much  agitated. 

"But  I  trust  we  can  meet  as  friends,  dear  friends,  and 
that  possibly  in  time  we  may  be  re-united,  as  much  for  our 
own  sakes,  as  the  children's." 

"  Oh,  how  can  I  ever  forgive  him?  Does  it  not  seem  to 
you  that  if  Mr.  Greyfield  had  done  his  duty,  all  this  ter 
rible  trouble  and  illegal  marrying  would  have  been  avoided? 
Do  you  think  a  man  should  consider  anything  in  this  world 
before  his  wife  and  children,  or  fail  of  doing  his  utmost  in 
any  circumstances  for  them  ?  How  else  is  marriage  su 
perior  to  any  illicit  relation,  if  its  duties  are  not  sacred 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  77 

and  not  to  be  set  aside  for  anything'?  I  could  never  have 
done  as  he  has  done,  blameless  as  he  thinks  himself." 

The  condition  of  Mrs.  Greyfield's  mind  was  such  that  no 
answer  was  written  or  attempted  that  day  nor  the  next.  She 
sent  a  brief  dispatch  to  Beuton,  asking  him  to  come  home, 
and  come  alone.  I  wished  to  go  away,  thinking  she  would 
prefer  being  left  quite  to  herself  under  the  circumstances, 
but  she  insisted  on  my  remaining  until  something  had  been 
decided  on  about  the  meeting  between  her  and  Mr.  Grey- 
field.  Benton  came  home  as  requested,  and  the  subject 
was  canvassed  in  all  its  bearings.  The  decision  arrived  at 
was,  that  an  invitation  should  be  sent  to  Mr.  Greyfield  and 
daughter  to  visit  Mrs.  Greyfield  for  a  fortnight.  Every 
thing  beyond  that  was  left  entirely  to  the  future.  When 
all  was  arranged,  I  took  my  leave,  promising  and  being- 
promised  frequent  letters. 

The  last  time  I  was  at  Mrs.  Greyfield's,  I  found  there 
only  herself  and  her  daughter  Nellie. 

"  I  have  adopted  her,"  she  said,  "  with  her  father's  con 
sent.  She  is  a  charming  girl,  and  I  could  not  bear  to  leave 
her  motherless.  Benton  is  very  much  attached  to  his 
father.  They  are  off  on  a  mountaineering  expedition  at 
present,  but  I  hope  they  will  come  home  before  you  go 
away." 

"Are  you  not  going  to  tell  me,"  I  asked,  "  how  you 
finally  settled  matters  between  Mr.  Greyfield  and  yourself." 

"  He  is  a  very  persistent  suitor,"  she  replied,  smiling,  "I 
can  hardly  tell  what  to  do  with  him." 

"You  do  not  want  to  break  bark  over  his  head?  "  I  said, 
laughing. 

"No;  but  I  do  almost  wish  that  since  he  had  stayed 
away  so  long  he  had  never  come  back.  I  had  got  used  to 
my  own  quiet,  old-maid  ways.  I  was  done,  or  thought  I 
was  done,  with  passion  and  romance;  and  now  to  be  tossed 
about  in  this  way,  on  the  billows  of  doubt — to  love  and  not 
to  love — to  feel  revengeful  and  forgiving — to  think  one  way 


78  THE  NEW  PENELOPE. 

in  the  morning  and  another  way  by  noon,  is  very  tiresome. 
I  really  do  not  know  what  to  do  with  him/3 

I  smiled,  because  I  thought  the  admission  was  as  good  as 
Mr.  Greyfield  need  desire,  for  his  prospects. 

"I  think  I  can  understand,"  I  said,  "how  difficult  it 
must  be  to  get  over  all  the  gaps  made  "by  so  many  years  of 
estrangement—  of  fancied  death,  even.  Had  you  been  look 
ing  for  him  for  such  a  length  of  time,  there  would  still  be 
a  great  deal  of  awkwardness  in  the  meeting,  when  you  came 
together  again." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Grej-field,  "it  is  inevitable.  The  most 
artistic  bit  of  truth  in  the  Odyssey  (you  see  I  have  read 
Homer  since  }TOU  called  me  PENELOPE),  is  where  the  poet 
describes  the  difficulty  the  faithful  wife  had  in  receiving  the 
long-absent,  and  now  changed,  Ulysses  as  her  true  hus 
band." 

"But  she  did  receive  him,"  I  interrupted,  "and  so  will 
you." 

"The  minister  will  have  to  bless  the  reception  then.  And 
to  confess  the  whole  truth  to  you,  we  are  corresponding 
with  my  friend  of  long  ago  in  Portland.  He  has  promised 
to  come  down  to  perform  the  ceremony,  and  as  his  health 
is  impaired,  we  have  invited  him  to  bring  his  family,  at  our 
expense,  and  to  remain  in  our  home  while  Mr.  Greyfield 
and  I,  with  Benton  and  Nellie,  make  a  tour  to  and  through 
Europe." 

"  How  much  you  and  Mr.  Greyfield  must  have  to  talk 
over!  It  will  take  a  year  or  two  of  close  association  to 
make  you  even  tolerably  well  acquainted  again." 

"No;  the  'talking  over'  is  tabooed,  and  that  is  why  we 
are  going  to  travel — to  have  something  else  to  talk  about. 
You  see  I  am  so  unforgiving  that  I  cannot  bear  to  hear  Mr. 
Greyfield's  story,  and  too  magnanimous,  notwithstanding, 
to  inflict  mine  upon  him.  To  put  temptation  out  of  my 
way,  I  proposed  this  European  excursion." 

"You  are  commencing  a  new  life,"  I  said.     "  May  it  be 


THE  NEW  PENELOPE.  79 

as  happy  as  your  darkest  days  were   sad.     There  is  one 
thing  you  never  told  me,  what  became  of  Mr.  Seabrook." 

"  I  saw  his  death  iiia  Nevada  paper,  only  a  few  days  ago. 
He  died  old,  poor  and  alone,  or  so  the  account  ran,  in  a 
cabin  among  the  mountains.  '  The  mills  of  the  gods/  etc., 
you  know?  " 

"  Then  I  am  not  to  see  Mr.  Greyfield?  " 

' '  O  yes;  if  you  will  stay  until  Mr.  -  -  comes  from  Port 
land.  I  shall  be  glad  of  your  presence  on  that  occasion. 
Mr.  Greyfield,  you  must  understand,  is  under  orders  to 
keep  out  of  the  way  until  that  time  arrives.  You  can  be  of 
service  to  me,  if  you  will  stay." 

I  staid  and  saw  them  off  to  Europe,  then  went  on  my 
way  to  Lake  Tahoe,  to  meet  other  friends;  but  I  have  a 
promise  from  this  strangely  re-united  couple,  to  spend  a 
summer  in  Oregon,  when  they  return  from  their  trans-At 
lantic  tour;  at  which  time  I  hope  to  be  able  to  remove  from 
Mrs.  G-reyfield's  mind  the  painful  impression  derived  from 
her  former  acquaintance  with  the  city  of  my  adoption. 


80  4    CURIOUS  INTERVIEW. 


A    CURIOUS    INTERVIEW. 

"YTANCOUVER'S  Island  furnishes  some  of  the  finest 
V  sceneiy  on  the  Pacific  Coast;  not  grandest,  perhaps, 
but  quietly  charming.  Its  shores  are  indented  every  here 
and  there  with  the  loveliest  of  bays  and  sounds,  forming  the 
most  exquisite  little  harbors  to  be  found  anywhere  in  the 
world.  The  climate  of  the  Island,  especially  its  summer 
climate,  is  delightful.  Such  bright,  bracing  airs  as  come 
from  the  sea  on  one  side,  and  from  the  snow-capped  mount 
ains  of  the  mainland  on  the  other,  are  seldom  met  with  on 
either  hemisphere.  Given  a  July  day,  a  pleasant  compan 
ion  or  two  in  a  crank  little  boat,  whose  oars  we  use  to  make 
silvery  interludes  in  our  talk,  and  I  should  not  envy  your 
sailor  on  the  Bosphorus. 

On  such  a  July  day  as  I  am  hinting  at,  our  party  had 
idled  away  the  morning,  splashing  our  way  indolently 
through  the  blue  waters  of  Nittinat  Sound,  the  mountains 
towering  behind  us,  the  open  sea  not  far  off;  but  all  around 
us  a  shore  so  emerald  green  and  touched  with  bits  of  color, 
so  gracefully,  picturesquely  wild,  that  not,  in  all  its  unre 
straint,  was  there  an  atom  of  savagery  to  be  subdued  in 
the  interest  of  pure  beauty.  It  was  a  wilderness  not 
wild,  a  solitude  not  solitary;  but  rather  populous  with 
happy  fancies,  born  of  all  harmonious  influences  of  earth, 
air  and  water;  of  sunlight,  shadow,  color  and  fragrance. 

' '  My  soul  to-day  is  far  away, 
Sailing  a  ssuiiny  tropic  bay," 

Sang  Charlie,  bursting  with  poetiy.  The  next  moment 
"  Hallo!  boat  ahoy!"  and  into  the  scene  in  which  just  now 
we  had  been  the  only  life,  slipped  from  some  hidden  inlet, 
an  Indian  canoe. 


A   CURIOUS  INTERVIEW.  81 

"Isn't  she  a  beauty,  though?"  said  Charlie,  laving  on 
his  oar.  "Fourteen  paddles;  slim,  crank,  and  what  a  curi 
ous  figure-head!  Ity  George,  that's  a  pretty  sight!  " 

And  a  pretty  sight  it  was,  as  the  canoe,  with  its  red  and 
blue-blanketed  oarsmen,  was  propelled  swiftly  through  the 
water,  and  quickly  brought  alongside;  when  we  had  oppor 
tunity  to  observe  that  the  crew  were  all  stalwart  young  fel- 
IOWTS,  with  rather  fine,  grand  features,  that  looked  as  if 
they  might  have  been  cut  in  bronze,  so  immobile  and  fixed 
were  they.  Their  dress  was  the  modern  dress  of  the  North 
ern  Indians,  supplied  by  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company,  of 
bright  colors  and  fine  texture.  But  what  most  engaged  our 
attention  was  the  figure  of  the  fifteenth  occupant  of  the 
canoe,  who  acted  as  steersman.  He  was  evidently  a  very 
old  man,  and  instead  of  being  dressed  in  blankets,  had  on 
a  mantle  of  woven  rushes,  and  leggins  of  wolf-skin.  A 
quiver  full  of  arrows  hung  at  his  back;  his  bow  rested  on 
his  knees.  On  his  grizzled  head  was  a  tall,  pointed  and 
gaily  painted  hat,  made  of  braided  grasses,  which  com 
pletely  resembled  a  mammoth  extinguisher.  As  the  canoe 
shot  past  us,  I  imagined  that  I  detected  an  expression  of 
contempt  upon  the  old  man's  face,  though  he  never  moved 
nor  spoke,  nor  in  any  way  evinced  any  interest  in  us. 

"Eheu!  what  a  funny-looking  old  cove,"  said  Charlie, 
gazing  after  the  canoe,  "  I  should  like  to  cultivate  his  ac 
quaintance." 

""Well,  you  have  the  opportunity,''  rejoined  Fanny,  the 
third  member  of  our  party.  "  They  are  going  to  land  on 
that  point  just  ahead  of  us." 

We  were  all  watching  them,  fascinated  by  the  noiseless 
dexterity  of  their  movements,  when  suddenly  there  was 
nothing  to  be  seen  of  either  boat  or  crew. 

"Where  the  deuce  have  they  gone  to?"  asked  Charlie, 
staring  at  the  vacant  spot  where  the  canoe  had  disappeared. 

"Great  heavens!"   cried  Fanny,  who,  like  her  brother, 


82  A  CURIOUS  INTERVIEW. 

used  a  very  exclamatory  style  of  speech;  "why,  they  have 
all  vanished  into  thin  air!  " 

As  I  could  not  contradict  this  assertion,  I  proposed  that 
we  should  follow,  and  examine  into  the  mystery;  but  Fanny 
cried  out,  "  O,  for  goodness'  sake,  don't!  I'm  afraid.  If 
they  have  the  power  to  make  themselves  invisible,  they  may 
be  hiding  to  do  us  harm." 

"It  is  only  visible  harm  that  I'm  afraid  of/'  answered 
Charlie,  with  his  eyes  still  fixed  wonderingly  on  the  point 
of  space  where  they  had  so  lately  been;  "  pull  fast,  Pierre, 
let  us  find  out  what  the  rascals  are  up  to." 

Thus  urged,  I  threw  what  force  I  could  into  my  oar- 
stroke  (for  I  was  but  a  convalescent),  and  very  soon  we 
came  to  the  long  sloping  point  of  mossy  rocks  where  we  had 
expected  to  see  the  canoe's  passengers  land.  I  own  that  I 
approached  it  with  some  caution,  thinking  it  possible  that 
a  whirlpool  might  have  sucked  the  boat  and  its  freight  of 
fifteen  lives  out  of  sight,  in  some  point  of  time  when  our 
eyes  were  for  an  instant  averted.  But  the  water  was  per 
fectly  quiet,  and  the  whole  place,  both  on  water  and  on 
land,  silent,  sunny,  and  not  in  the  least  uncanny  or  alarm 
ing.  We  dropped  our  oars  and  gazed  at  each  other  in 
amazement. 

"Well,  if  that  don't  beat  the  Dutch!"  was  Charlie's 
comment;  and  I  fancied  that  his- brown  cheek  grew  a  shade 
less  rudely  than  usual.  As  for  Fanny,  she  was  in  a  fright, 
paling  and  shrinking  as  if  from  some  terrible  real  and  visi 
ble  danger;  and  when  I  proposed  to  land  and  investigate 
the  mystery,  fairly  mustered  quite  a  copious  shower  of  tears 
with  which  to  melt  my  resolve. 

"  O,  Pierre— Mr.  Blanchett,  I  mean— oh,  please  don't  go 
ashore.  I  am  sure  either  that  these  dreadful  savages  are 
lurking  here  to  destroy  us,  or  that  we  have  been  deceived 
by  some  wicked  conjuror.  Oh,  I  am  so  frightened!" 

'  My  dear  Miss  Lane, "I  answered,  "I  give  you  my  word 
no  harm  shall  come  to  you.  Shall  we  let  a  lot  of  blanketed 


A    CURIOUS  INTERVIEW.  83 

savages  perform  a  conjurer's  trick  right  before  our  faces 
that  we  do  not  attempt  to  have  explained?  By  no  means. 
If  you  are  too  nervous  to  come  ashore  with  us,  Charlie  may 
stay  with  you  in  the  boat,  and  I  will  go  by  myself  to  look 
into  this  matter."  Whereupon  Fanny  gave  me  so  reproach 
ful  a  look  out  of  her  great  brown  eyes  that  I  quailed  be 
neath  it. 

"Do  you  think  Charlie  and  I  would  leave  you  to  go  into 
danger  alone?  No,  indeed;  if  you  will  be  so  rash,  we  will 
accompany  you;  and  if  die  we  must,  we  will  all  die  to 
gether."  That  last  appeal  being  made  with  a  very  touch 
ing  quaver  of  a  very  melodious  voice. 

For  answer,  I  assisted  her  out  of  the  boat,  which  Charlie 
was  already  fastening  by  the  chain  to  some  bushes  near  the 
bit  of  beach;  and  tucking  the  little  gloved  hand  under  my 
arm,  seized  an  opportunity  to  whisper  something  not  par 
ticularly  relevant  to  this  story. 

The  boat  being  secured,  we  climbed  a  short  distance  up 
the  rocky  bank,  stopping  to  gather  wild  roses  and  mock- 
orange  blossoms,  which,  in  spite  of  her  alarm,  engaged 
Miss  Lane's  attention  to  such  an  extent  that  Charlie  had 
gotten  fairly  out  of  sight  before  we  missed  him.  But  as  we 
turned  to  follow,  he  confronted  us  with  a  face  expressive  of 
a  droll  kind  of  perplexity. 

"Not  a  red  rascal  in  sight/'  said  he,  glancing  back  over 
his  shoulder,  "except  that  queer  old  cove  that  was  sitting 
in  the  stern.  Ht's  just  over  there,"  jerking  his  head  in  the 
direction  meant,  "  sitting  on  his  haunches  like  an  Egyptian 
idol,  and  about  as  motionless,  and  about  as  ancient." 

"  But  their  canoe,"  I  said,  "  what  could  they  have  done 
with  their  canoe?  It  is  not  in  the  water,  and  there  is  no 
sign  here  of  their  having  dragged  it  ashore." 

'  They  didn't  land,  not  in  the  regular  way,  I  mean,  for 
I  was  watching  for  them  every  instant;  and  how  that  old 
chap  got  there,  and  how  that  canoe  got  out  of  sight  so  quick, 
is  too  hard  a  nut  for  me  to  crack,  I  confess." 


84:  A   CURIOUS  INTERVIEW. 

11  Let  us  not  go  near  the  dreadful  old  thing,"  pleaded 
Fanny  once  more,  her  alarm  returning. 

Again  I  proposed  to  her  to  stay  in  the  boat  with  Charlie, 
which  had  the  effect,  as  before,  to  determine  her  upon  going 
with  us;  which  determination  I  strengthened  by  an  en 
couraging  pressure  of  the  little  gloved  hand  in  my  posses 
sion;  and  without  waiting  for  further  alarms  pressed  on  at 
once,  with  Charlie  for  guide,  to  the  spot  where  the  "  dread 
ful  old  thing  "  was  understood  to  be. 

And  there,  sure  enough,  he  was,  squatting  on  the  ground 
beside  a  spring,  where  grew  a  thicket  of  willows  and  wild 
roses;  alone  and  silent,  evidently  watching,  if  not  waiting, 
for  our  approach. 

"  What  will  you  say  to  him  ?"  asked  Fanny,  as  we  came 
quite  near,  eyeing  the  singular  object  with  evident  dread. 

"We'll  ask  him  if  he  is  hungry,"  said  Charlie  lightly. 
"  If  he  is  a  live  Indian  he  is  sure  to  say  '  yes'  to  that  prop 
osition;  and  Charlie  actually  produced  from  his  pockets 
some  sandwiches,  in  a  slightly  damaged  condition.  Hold 
ing  these  before  him,  very  much  as  one  holds  an  ear  of 
corn  to  a  frisky  colt  he  wishes  to  catch,  he  approached  near 
enough  to  offer  them,  Fanny  still  holding  me  back  just 
enough  to  let  this  advance  be  made  before  we  came  up. 
To  her  great  relief  the  mummy  put  out  a  skinny  hand,  and 
snatched  the  offered  provisions  under  its  robe. 

"  You  see  he  is  only  a  poor  starving  old  Indian,"  I  said. 

"  Me  no  poor — no  starve;  me  big  chief,-"  retorted  the  old 
man,  glancing  disdainfully  at  us,  with  eyes  that  now 
appeared  bright. 

I  exchanged  telegraphic  communication  with  Charlie  and 
Fanny,  seated  her  comfortably  upon  a  mossy  boulder,  and 
threw  myself  at  her  feet,  while  Charlie  disposed  of  himself 
also,  within  conversational  distance. 

"  May  I  ask  what  is  your  name?"  I  inquired,  insinuat 
ingly. 

"My  name  is  Nittinat — this  is  my  country;  this  water  is 
mine;  this  earth,  these  stones — all  mine  that  you  see." 


A   CURIOUS  INTERVIEW.  85 

"  Such  a  great  chief  must  have  many  warriors— many 
people.  I  do  not  see  any.  Were  those  your  people  that  I 
saw  in  the  canoe  ?" 

"  Nittinat's  people  all  gone/'  answered  the  old  man 
sadly,  dropping  his  chin  upon  his  rush-clad  breast. 

"But  we  saw  a  canoe  with  fourteen  warriors  in  it, besides 
yourself,"  Charlie  eagerly  asserted.  "Where  are  those 
young  men?" 

"Me  great  medicine  man;  make  see  canoe— make  see 
young  men/'  responded  the  owner  of  the  place,  with  a  wan 
yet  superior  sort  of  smile. 

Charlie  glanced  at  us,  then  asked  quite  deferentially, 
"  Can  you  make  us  see  what  is  not  here?" 

"You  have  seen,"  was  the  brief  reply. 

"Ask  him  why  we  are  thus  favored,"  whispered  Fanny. 

"  This  young  cloochman  (you  see  I  must  talk  to  him  in 
his  own  tongue,  Fanny),  wishes  to  know  why  you  opened 
our  eyes  to  your  great  medicine." 

'•'White  man  come  to  Nittinat's  land,  white  man  see 
Nittinat's  power.  White  man  ask  questions  !" — this  last 
contemptuously,  at  which  Fanny  laughed,  as  asking  ques 
tions  was  one  of  her  reserved  rights. 

"  You  must  be  an  old  man,  since  these  waters  are  named 
after  you,"  suggested  I.  "Who  was  the  first  white  man 
you  remember  seeing?" 

" Hyas  lyee,  Cappen  Cook.  Big  ship  — big  guns!"  an 
swered  Nittinat,  warming  with  the  recollection. 

"This  is  a  good  lead,"  remarked  Charlie,  sotlo  voce; 
"  follow  it  up,  Pierre." 

"You  were  a  child  then?  very  little?"  making  a  move 
ment  with  my  hand  to  indicate  a  child's  stature. 

"Me  a  chief — many  warriors — big  chief.  Ugh!"  said 
the  mummy,  with  kindling  eyes. 

At  this  barefaced  story,  Charlie  made  a  grimace,  while 
he  commented  in  an  undertone :  ' '  But  it  is  ninety-six  years 
since  Captain  Cook  visited  this  coast.  How  the  old  hum 


bug  lies." 


86  A    CURIOUS  INTERVIEW. 

At  this  whispered  imputation  upon  his  honor,  the  old 
chief  regarded  us  scornfully;  though  how  such  a  parchment 
countenance  could  be  made  to  express  anything-  excited  my 
wonder. 

"Me  no  lie.  Nittinat's  heart  big.  Nittinat's  heart  good. 
Close  turn-turn,  ugh!" 

"White  man's  eyes  are  closed— his  heart  is  darkened,  " 
said  I,  adopting  what  I  considered  to  be  a  conciliatory  style 
of  speech.  My  friend  cannot  understand  how  you  could 
have  known  Captain  Cook  so  long  ago.  All  the  white  men 
who  knew  the  great  white  chief  have  gone  to  their  fathers/' 

"Ugh,  all  same  as  Cappen  Cook.  He  no  believe  my 
cousin  Wiccanish  see  big  Spanish  ship  'fore  he  came." 

"How  did  he  make  him  see  it  at  last?"  asked  Charlie, 
stretching  himself  out  on  the  grass,  arid  covering  his  eyes 
Avith  his  hat,  from  under  the  brim  of  which  he  shot  quizzi 
cal  glances  at  Fanny  and  I. 

"  Wiccanish  showed  Cook  these,"  replied  Nittinat,  draw 
ing  from  beneath  his  robe  a  necklake  of  shells,  to  which 
two  silver  spoons  were  attached,  of  a  peculiar  pattern,  and 
much  battered  and  worn. 

"Oh,  do  let  me  see  them,"  cried  Fanny,  whose  passion 
for  relics  was  quickly  aroused.  Charlie,  too,  was  con 
strained  to  abandon  his  lazy  attitude  for  a  moment  to  ex 
amine  such  a  curiosity  as  these  quaint  old  spoons. 

"  Only  to  think  that  they  are  more  than  a  hundred  years 
old!  But  I  cannot  make  out  the  lettering  upon  them;  per 
haps  he  is  deceiving  us  after  all,"  said  Fanny,  passing  them 
tome  for  inspection. 

I  took  out  of  my  pocket  a  small  inagnifyiug-glass,  which, 
although  it  could  not  restore  what  was  worn  away,  brought 
to  light  all  that  was  left  of  an  inscription,  probably  the 
manufacturer's  trade-mark,  the  only  legible  part  of  which 
was  17-0. 

"Did  the  Spanish  captain  give  these  to  your  cousin?"  I 
asked. 


A   CURIOUS  INTERVIEW.  87 

"Ugh!"  responded  Nattinat,  nodding  Lis  tall  extin 
guisher.  "  Wiccanish  go  on  board  big  ship,  see  cappen." 

"And  stole  the  spoons,"  murmured  Charlie  from  under 
his  hat. 

Fanny  touched  his  foot  with  the  stick  of  her  parasol,  for 
she  stood  in  awe  of  this  ancient  historian,  not  wishing  to 
to  be  made  a  subject  of  his  powerful  "  medicine." 

"And  so  you  knew  Captain  Cook?"  I  repeated,  when 
the  spoons  were  hidden  once  more  under  the  mantle  of 
rushes,  "  and  other  white  men  too,  I  suppose.  Did  your 
people  and  the  white  people  always  keep  on  friendly 
terms?" 

"  Me  have  good  heart,"  answered  Nittinat  rather  sadty. 
"  Me  and  my  cousins  Wiccanish,  Clyoquot,  Maquinna,  and 
Tatoocheatticus,  we  like  heap  sell  our  furs,  and  get  knives, 
beads,  and  brass  buttons.  Heap  like  nails,  chisels,  and 
such  things.  If  my  young  men  sometimes  stole  very  little 
things,  Nittinat's  heart  was  not  little.  He  made  the  white 
chiefs  welcome  to  wood  and  water;  he  gave  them  his 
women;  and  sometime  make  a  big  feast — kill  two,  three, 
six  slaves.  White  chief  heap  mean  to  make  trouble  about 
a  few  chains  or  hammers  after  all  that ! " 

"  Oh,  the  horrid  wretch!"  whispered  Fanny:  "Does  he 
say  he  killed  half  a  dozen  slaves  for  amusement?  " 

"  If  he  did,  Miss  Lane,"  I  answered;  "  was  it  worse  than 
the  elegant  Romans  used  to  do  ?  The  times  and  the  man 
ners  have  to  be  considered,  you  know." 

Fanny  shuddered,  but  said  nothing,  and  I  went  on  ad 
dressing  myself  to  Nittinat: 

"  How  many  ships  did  you  ever  see  in  these  waters  at 
one  time? — I  mean  long  ago,  in  Captain  Cook's  time?  " 

The  old  chief  held  up  five  fingers,  for  answer. 

"  And  you  and  your  cousins  were  friendly  to  all  of 
them  ?  " 

"  Maquinna's  heart  good,  too, — dose  turn-turn.  Sell  land 
to  one  Cappen;  he  go  'way.  Sell  land  to  other  Cappen;  he 


88  A   CURIOUS  INTERVIEW. 

go  'way,  too.  Bime-by  two  Cappens  come  back,  quarrel 
'bout  the  land.  Maquinna  no  say  anything.  When  one 
Cappen  ask:  '  Is  the  land  mine  ?'  Maquinna  tell  him  'yes.' 
When  other  Cappen  ask:  <  Is  the  land  mine?'  Maquinna 
tell  him  'yes/  too,  all  same.  O  yes;  Indian  have  good 
heart;  no  want  to  fight  great  white  chief  with  big  guns'. 
He  stay  in  his  lodge,  and  laugh  softly  to  himself,  and  let 
the  white  chiefs  fight  'bout  the  land.  Ugh!  " 

"  The  mercenary  old  diplomat!  "  muttered  Charlie,  under 
his  hat.  "Here's  your  ' noble  savage,'  Fanny.  Burn  a  lit 
tle  incense,  can't  you?"  But  Fanny  preferred  remaining 
silent  to  answering  her  brother's  bantering  remarks;  and  if 
she  was  burning  incense  at  all,  I  had  reason  to  think  it  was 
to  one  who  shall  be  nameless. 

"Did  you  always  have  skins  to  sell  to  so  many  vessels?  " 
I  asked,  returning  to  the  subject  of  the  trading  vessels. 

"  Long  ago  had  plenty;  birne-by  not  many.  White  chief 
he  heap  mean.  Skin  not  good,  throw  'em  back  to  Indian. 
My  young  men  take  'em  ashore,  stretch  tail  long  like  sea- 
otter,  fix  'em  up  nice;  give  'em  to  other  Indian,  tell  him  go 
sell 'em.  All  right.  Cappen  buy 'em  next  time;  pay  good 
price;  like  'em  heap;"  at  which  recollection  the  mummy 
actually  laughed. 

"How  is  that  for  Yankee  shrewdness?  "  asked  a  muffled 
voice  under  a  hat;  to  which,  however,  I  paid  no  attention. 

"  You  speak  of  the  white  chiefs  fighting  about  land. 
Did  they  ever  use  their  big  guns  on  each  other?  Tell  me 
what  you  remember  about  the  white  men  who  came  here 
in  ships,  long  ago.'" 

"After  Cappen  Cook  go  'way,  long  time,  come  Spanish 
ship,  King  George  ship,  Boston  ship.  Spanish  Cappen  no 
like  King  George  Cappen.  One  day  fight  with  long  knives; 
(swords)  and  Spanish  Cappen  put  King  George  man  in 
big  ship;  send  him  'way  off.  Many  ships  came  and  went; 
sold  many  skins.  One  time  all  go  'way  but  the  Boston 
ships.  Bime-by  King  George's  ships  came  back  and  fight 
the  Boston's." 


A   CURIOUS  INTERVIEW.  89 

"And  you  kept  your  good  heart  all  the  time?  Never 
killed  the  Bostons  or  King  George  men  ?  " 

At  this  interrogation,  Nittinat  shuffled  his  withered  limbs 
uneasily  beneath  his  rush  mantle,  and  averted  his  parch 
ment  countenance.  Upon  my  pressing  the  question,  as 
delicately  as  I  knew  how,  he  at  length  recovered  his  immo 
bility,  and  answered  in  a  plausible  tone  enough: 

"Boston  Cappen  Gray,  he  build  a  fort  at  Clyoquot.  My 
cousin  Wiccanish  sell  him  the  ground,  and  Cappen  Gray 
bring  all  his  goods  from  the  ship,  and  put  them  in  the  fort 
for  winter.  Our  young  men  were  lazy,  and  had  not  many 
skins  to  sell;  but  they  wanted  Cappen  Gray's  goods;  they 
liked  the  firewater  a  heap.  So  the  young  men  they  say, 
'kill  Cappen  Gray,  and  take  his  goods/  My  cousin  say, 
'  no;  that  a  heap  bad.'  Nittinat  say  that  bad  too.  But  we 
tell  our  young  men  if  they  will  do  this  bad  thing,  we  will 
not  leave  them  without  a  chief  to  direct  them.  So  my 
young  men  came  to  Clyoquot  to  help  their  cousins  take  the 
big  guns  of  the  fort.  But  Cappen  Gray  find  all  out  in  time 
to  save  our  young  men  from  doing  wrong.  We  tell  him 
our  hearts  all  good.  He  give  us  presents,  make  close  turn- 
turn.  No  use  kill  Boston  tyee  when  he  give  us  what  we 
want." 

Charlie  tilted  up  his  sombrero,  and  shot  an  approving 
glance  at  the  venerable  philosopher  that  caused  a  smile  to 
ripple  Fanny's  face  at  the  instant  she  was  saying,  "The 
horrid  wretch!"  with  feminine  vehemence.  To  cover  this 
by-play,  I  asked  if  Nittinat  remembered  the  Tbnquin. 

"Oh,  come!"  ejaculated  Charlie,  starting  up,  "I  say  we 
have  had  enough  of  this  artless  historian's  prattle;  don't 
you?" 

"Consider,"  I  urged,  "how  rare  the  opportunity  of  veri 
fying  tradition.  Compose  yourself,  my  friend,  while  I 
continue  my  interviewing.  Turning  to  Nittinat  I  asked: 
'""Why  did  the  Indians  destroy  Captain  Thorn's  vessel?" 

"Cappen  Thorn  big  chief;  no  like  Indian;  big  voice;  no 


90  A    CURIOUS  INTERVIEW. 

give  presents;  no  let  Indian  come  on  board  without  leave; 
Indian  no  like  Cappen  Thorn.  He  get  mad  at  my  cousin 
Kasiascall  for  hiding  on  his  ship;  keep  him  all  night  pris 
oner,  cause  he  no  punish  his  young  men  for  cutting  the 
boarding-netting.  Kasiascall  get  mad.  Next  day  110  In 
dian  go  to  trade  with  the  ship;  then  Cappen  Thorn  he  send 
McKay  ashore  to  say  he  is  sorry,  and  talk  to  Indian  'bout 
trade. 

"Indian  very  good  to  McKay;  say  not  mad;  say  come 
next  day  to  trade  plenty.  Kasiascall,  too,  tell  McKay  all 
right;  come  trade  all  same.  But  McKay  he  look  dark;  he 
no  believe  my  cousin;  think  Indian  lie.  All  same  he  tell 
come  to-morrow;  and  he  shake  hands,  and  go  back  to  ship. 
He  tell  Cappen  Thorn,  'Indian  say  he  trade  to-morrow.' 
Big  Cappen  walk  the  deck  very  proud.  He  say  he  '  teach 
the  damned  Indians  to  behave  themselves.' 

"Next  day  six  white  men  come  ashore  to  visit  our  lodges. 
My  cousin  treat  white  men  well.  Kasiascall  and  his  young 
men  go  to  the  ship  to  trade.  Pretty  soon  Kasiascall  come 
back:  say  McKay  look  dark  and  sad;  say  Indian  buy  plenty 
of  knives  and  hide  under  their  blankets;  say  I  will  see  the 
ship  taken  by  the  Indians  in  one  hour.  My  heart  was  sad 
for  McKay.  He  good  man.  Indian  like  McKay  heap. 
But  my  cousin  and  his  people  want  plenty  goods;  no  like 
Cappen  Thorn;  so  Nittinat  say  nothing. 

"Bimeby  there  was  big  noise  like  a  hundred  guns,  and 
the  ship  was  all  in  pieces,  flying  through  the  air  like  leaves 
on  the  wind.  My  cousin's  people  were  all  in  pieces  too; 
one  arm,  one  leg,  one  piece  head.  Ugh!" 

"  Served  them  right,  too!"  ejaculated  Charlie.  "Is  that 
the  whole  story,  old  mortality?" 

But  Nittinat  was  silent — overcome,  as  it  seemed  by  these 
sad  reminiscences.  He  bowed  his  head  upon  his  breast 
until  the  extinguisher  pointed  directly  at  Fanny's  nose,  as 
her  brother  mischievously  made  her  aware.  When  I 
thought  that  Nittinat  had  taken  time  to  sufficiently  regret 


A    CURIOUS  INTERVIEW.  91 

Lis  cousin's  misfortune  in  losing  so  many  young  men,  I 
gently  reminded  him  of  Charlie's  question. 

"Kasiascall's  heart  was  very  little  when  he  saw  the  de 
struction  of  his  wrarriors,  and  heard  the  wailing  of  the 
women  and  children.  To  comfort  him  the  six  white  men 
were  taken  and  bound  for  slaves.  When  the  days  of 
mourniug  were  past,  my  cousin  laid  the  six  white  slaves 
in  a  row,  their  throats  resting  on  the  sharp  edge  of  a 
rock,  and  set  his  Indian  slaves  to  saw  off  their  heads  with 
a  cedar  plank.  It  was  a  very  fine  sight;  our  hearts  were 
good;  we  were  comforted." 

As  no  one  uttered  an  opposing  sentiment,  Nittinat,  after 
a  pause,  continued: 

"For  many  moons  we  feared  the  Bostons  down  on  the 
Columbia  would  come  to  make  war  on  us;  and  we  went  no 
more  to  trade  with  any  ships.  But  after  a  time  Kasiascall's 
heart  grew  big  within  him.  He  asked  my  advice.  I  said 
'  you  are  my  brother.  Go  kill  all  the  whites  on  the  Co 
lumbia."  Then  we  danced  the  medicine  dance;  and  Kasi- 
ascall  went  alone  to  the  country  of  the  Chinooks,  to  the 
fort  of  the  Boston  men.  He  told  the  chief  of  the  Bostons 
how  the  Tonquin  was  destroyed,  with  all  on  board;  but  he 
kept  a  dark  place  in  his  heart,  and  his  tongue  was  crooked. 
He  said  Kasiascall  knew  not  of  the  treachery  of  his  rela 
tions,  and  people,  and  he  said  nothing  of  the  six  white 
slaves.  Then  the  Boston  chief  gave  him  presents,  and  he 
staid  many  days  at  the  fort,  until  he  heard  that  some 
Indians  from  Sooke  were  coming  there.  Fearing  the  Sooke 
Indians  might  have  straight  tongues,  Kasiascall  left  the 
fort  that  day,  and  went  among  the  .Klatskenines,  and 
stirred  them  up  to  take  the  fort  and  kill  all  the  Bostons. 
But  the  chief  discovered  the  plot,  and  my  cousin  fled  back 
to  Neweeta.  Ugh  ?" 

These  events  occurred  a  long  time  ago,"  I  suggested. 
"  Your  hearts  were  dark  then,  but  surely  you  have  a  better 
heart  now.  You  would  not  kill  the  whites  to-day  if  you 
could  ?" 


92  ^   CURIOUS  INTERVIEW. 

A  very  expressive  "Ugh  !"  was  the  only  rejoinder. 

"  But  the  Indians  I  see  about  here  look  very  comfortable 
and  happy.  They  have  good  warm  blankets,  and  enough 
to  eat." 

"Indian  hunt  furs  to  pay  for  blanket;  Indian  catch  fish 
for  eat.  Bime-by  furs  grow  scarce;  white  man  catch  fish, 
too.  Bime-by  Hudson  Bay  men  go  way;  Indian  go  naked. 
Then  come  black-gowns  (priests,  or  preachers).  He  say, 
'Indian  pray  for  what  he  want/  But  that  all  d — d  lie; 
pray  one  moon — two,  three  moons,  nothing  comes.  "White 
man  say  to  Indian,  'work.'  What  can  Indian  do?  Indian 
big  fool — know  nothing." 

"He  is  making  out  a  case,"  said  Charlie;  "  but  he  don't 
look  as  if  he  need  concern  himself  about  the  future." 

"Ask  him  if  he  ever  saw  any  white  ladies,  in  that  long 
ago  time  he  has  been  telling  us  of,"  whispered  Fanny,  who 
could  not  muster  courage  to  address  the  manikin  directly. 
I  considered  how  best  to  put  the  desired  question,  but  Nit- 
tinat  was  beforehand  with  me. 

"I  have  seen  many  things  with  my  eyes.  First  came  the 
big  ships,  with  wings;  and  only  men  came  in  them.  By 
and  by  came  a  long,  black  ship,  without  sails,  or  oars,  but 
with  a  great  black  and  white  smoke.  I  went  on  board  this 
vessel  with  one  of  my  wives,  the  youngest  and  prettiest; 
and  here  I  saw  the  first  white  woman  that  came  to  my 
country.  I  liked  the  white  woman,  and  asked  her  to  be 
my  wife.  She  laughed,  and  said,  'go  ask  the  Cappen/  I 
asked  the  Cappen,  but  he  would  not  hear.  I.  offered  him 
many  skins,  and  my  new  wife.  He  swore  at  me.  I  am 
sworn  at  and  laughed  at  for  wanting  wife  with  a  white  skin. 
"White  man  take  Indian  wife  when  he  please.  Nittinat  has 
many  wrongs;  yet  Nittinat  has  good  heart,  all  same. 
Bime-by  big  medicine-man,  come  and'  make  all  right.  AVhite 
man  all  melt  away  like  snow  on  the  mountain-side.  Indian 
have  plenty  house,  plenty  blankets,  plenty  eat — all,  every 
thing,  all  the  time.  Good!  " 


A   CURIOUS  INTERVIEW.  93 

"White  wives  included,  I  presume.  Well/'  said  Char 
lie,  "  I  think  this  interview  might  be  brought  to  a  close. 
Hold  fast  to  Pierre  and  I,  Fanny,  or  the  wizard  may  spirit 
you  off  to  his  wigwam,  to  inaugurate  the  good  time  coming 
that  he  speaks  of." 

So  saying,  Charlie  rose  to  his  feet,  stretched  his  limbs 
lazily,  and  turned  to  disengage  his  sister's  veil  from  a 
vicious  thorn-bush  in  our  way.  Not  succeeding  immedi 
ately,  I  lent  my  assistance,  and  the  delicate  tissue  being  at 
last  rescued  with  some  care,  turned  to  say  farewell  to  the 
chief  of  all  the  Nittinats,  when  lo!  I  addressed  myself  to 
space. 

"  The  old  cove  has  taken  himself  off  as  mysteriously  as 
he  came.  That  is  a  confounded  good  trick;  could'nt  do  it 
better  myself.  Does  anybody  miss  anything?"  was  Char 
lie's  running  comment  on  the  transaction. 

"Can't  say  that  I  do,  unless  it  is  my  luncheon.  I'm 
ravenously  hungry,  and  every  sandwich  gone.  Could  that 
dreadful  old  ghoul  have  eaten  those  you  gave  him,  Charlie  ? 
Do  you  know,  I  could'nt  help  thinking  he  must  be  a  ghost  ?  " 

"  Well,  the  ghost  of  an  Indian  could  eat,  steal,  and  beg, 
I  should  think.  I  felt  like  rattling  his  dry  bones,  when  he 
so  coolly  confessed  to  the  most  atrocious  murders  of  white 
men." 

"That  is  because  you  are  not  an  Indian,  I  presume," 
said  I,  with  a  heavy  sense  of  conviction  about  what  I  gave 
expression  to.  "Indian  virtue  is  not  white  men's  virtue, 
If  it  won  you  rank,  and  riches,  and  power,  to  become  a 
mighty  slayer,  a  slayer  you  would  undoubtedly  become.  A 
man,  even  an  Indian,  is  what  his  circumstances  make  him. 
The  only  way  I  can  conceive  to  make  a  first-class  man,  is 
to  place  him  under  first-class  influences.  I  am  generalizing 
now,  of  course;  ihe  exceptions  are  rare  enough  to  prove 
the  rule." 

"I  wish  I  had  those  spoons,"  said  Fanny,  "  they  would 
be  such  a  curiosity  at  home." 


94  A   CURIOUS  INTERVIEW. 

"  The  spoon  I  wish  for  is  one  of  the  vessel's  forks,  with 
a  bit  of  roast  beef  on  it.  Here,  Sis,  jump  in;  we  shall  be 
late  for  dinner,  and  the  Captain  will  call  us  to  account." 

In  a  few  moments  we  were  out  of  the  little  cove,  and  in 
open  water  of  the  sound,  pulling  back  toward  the  harbor, 
where  the  steamer  was  lying-  that  had  brought  us  this  sum 
mer  excursion.  As  we  came  abreast  of  a  certain  inlet. 
Fanny  cried  out,  "Look  there!"  and  turning  our  eyes  in 
the  direction  of  her  glance,  we  saw  the  canoe  with  its 
bronzed  crew  just  disappearing  up  the  narrow  entrance, 
half-hidden  in  shrubbery. 

Our  adventure  was  related  at  dinner  in  the  steamer'b 
cabin,  and  various  were  the  conjectures  regarding  the  iden 
tity  of  Chief  Nittin'at.  The  captain  declared  his  ignorance 
of  any  such  personage.  Most  of  the  party  were  inclined  to 
regard  the  whole  affair  as  a  practical  joke,  though  who 
could  have  been  the  authors  of  it  no  one  ventured  to  say. 
It  was  proposed  that  another  party  should  repeat  the  ex 
cursion  on  the  following  day,  in  order  that  another  oppor 
tunity  might  be  given  the  ni3rsterious  medicine  man  to  put 
in  an  appearance.  And  this,  I  believe,  really  was  carried 
into  effect,  but  without  result,  so  far  as  solving  the  mystery 
was  concerned.  A  canoe,  similar  to  the  one  we  had  seen, 
had  been  discovered  up  one  of  the  numerous  arms  of  the 
Sound,  but  on  attempting  to  overtake  it,  the  pursuing  party 
had  been  easily  distanced,  and  the  clue  lost,  so  that  all 
hope  of  clearing  up  the  mystery  was  relinquished. 

One  evening,  shortly  after,  Fanny  and  I  sat  together  in 
the  soft,  clear  moonlight,  listening  to  the  dance-music  in 
the  cabin,  and  the  gentle  splash  of  the  waters  about  the 
vessel's  keel.  All  at  once,  a  canoe-load  of  Nootkans  shot 
across  the  moon's  wake,  not  fifty  yards  fron\our  anchorage, 
and  as  suddenly  was  lost  again  in  shadow.  "  Fanny,"  I 
said,  "  being  the  only  invalid  of  this  party,  I  feel  a  good 
deal  nervous  about  these  apparitions.  They  are  usually 
regarded,  I  believe,  as  portentious.  AVithout  designing  to 


A   CURIOUS  INTERVIEW.  95 

take  advantage  of  your  too  sympathizing  disposition,  I  am 
tempted  to  remind  you  that  if  I  am  ever  to  have  the  happi 
ness  of  calling  your  precious  self  truty  my  own,  it  ought  to 
be  before  the  third  appearance  of  the  ghostly  presence; 
will  you  condescend  to  name  the  day?" 

"  I  should  prefer,  Pierre,  not  to  have  any  ghostly  influ 
ences  brought  to  bear  on  this  occasion.  Suppose  we  try  a 
valse,  which  I  think  will  tend  to  dissipate  your  melancholy 
forebodings." 

I  may  as  well  own  it  here:  the  little  witch  could  not  be 
brought  to  make  any  final  arrangements,  although  I  did 
entreat  her  seriously. 

"  You  must  talk  about  these  things  when  I  am  at  home 
with  my  papa  and  mamma,"  she  insisted;  and  I  was  com 
pelled  to  respect  her  decision. 

But  we  have  been  married  almost  a  year,  and  we  often 
refer  to  the  strange  interview  we  had  with  Chief  Nittinat. 
Perhaps  the  Smoke-eller  doctrine  now  popular  among  the 
northern  Indians,  and  which  corresponds  to  our  spiritual 
ism,  may  have  some  foundation  in  similar  occurrences 
themselves.  "Who  knows  but  Nittinat  was  talking  to  us 
through  a  medium  ? 


96  MR.  ELA'S  STORY. 


MR.    ELA'S    STORY. 

or  four  years  ago,  my  husband  and  I  were 
JL  making  a  winter  voyage  up  the  Oregon  coast.  The 
weather  was  not  peculiarly  bad :  it  was  the  ordinary  win 
ter  weather,  with  a  quartering  wind,  giving  the  ship  an 
awkward  motion  over  an  obliquely-rolling  sea.  Cold,  sick, 
thoroughly  uncomfortable,  with  no  refuge  but  the  narrow 
and  dimly-lighted  state-room,  I  was  reduced  in  the  first 
twenty-four  hours  to  a  condition  of  ignominious  helpless 
ness,  hardly  willing  to  live,  and  not  yet  fully  wishing  or 
intending  to  die. 

In  this  unhappy  frame  of  mind  the  close  of  the  second 
weary  day  found  me,  when  my  husband  opened  our  state 
room  door  to  say  that  Mr.  Ela,  of  -  — ,  Oregon,  was  oil 
board,  and  proposed  to  come  and  talk  to  me,  in  the  hope 
of  amusing  me  and  making  me  forget  my  wretchedness. 
Submitting  rather  than  agreeing  to  the  proposal,  chairs 
were  brought  and  placed  just  inside  the  door-way,  where 
the  light  of  the  saloon -lamps  shown  athwart  the  counte 
nance  of  my  self-constituted  physician.  He  was  a  young- 
man,  and  looked  younger  than  his  years;  slightly  built, 
though  possessing  a  supple,  well-knit  frame,  with  hands  of 
an  elegant  shape,  fine  texture,  and  great  expression.  You 
saw  at  a  glance  that  he  had  a  poet's  head,  and  a  poet's  sen 
sitiveness  of  face;  but  it  was  only  after  observation  that 
you  saw  how  much  the  face  was  capable  of  which  it  did 
not  convey,  for  faces  are  apt  to  indicate  not  so  much  indi 
vidual  culture  as  the  culture  of  those  with  whom  we  are 
habitually  associated.  Mr.  Ela's  face  clearly  indicated  to 
me  the  intellectual  poverty,  the  want  of  sostheic  cultivation 
in  his  accustomed  circle  of  society,  at  the  same  time  that 
it  suggested  possible  phases  of  great  beauty,  should  it  ever 


MR.  ELA'S  STORY.  97 

become  possible  for  certain  emotions  to  be  habitually  called 
to  the  surface  by  sympathy.  Evidently  a  vein  of  drollery 
in  his  nature  had  been  better  appreciated,  and  ofteiier  ex 
hibited  to  admiring  audiences,  than  any  of  the  finer  quali 
ties  of  thought  or  sentiment  of  which  you  instinctively 
knew  him  to  be  capable;  and  yet  the  face  protested  against 
it,  too,  by  a  gentle  irony  with  a  hint  of  self-scorn  in  it,  as 
if  its  owner,  in  his  own  estimation,  wrote  himself  a  buffoon 
for  his  condescension.  Altogether  it  was  a  good  face;  but 
one  to  make  you  wish  it  were  better,  since  by  not  being  so, 
it  was  untrue  to  itself.  I  remember  thinking  all  this,  look 
ing  out  with  sluggish  interest  from  my  berth,  while  the  two 
gentlemen  did  a  little  preliminary  talking. 

Mr.  Ela's  voice,  I  observed,  like  his  face,  was  susceptible 
of  great  change  and  infinite  modulations.  Deep  chest 
tones  were  followed  by  finely  attenuated  sounds;  droning 
nasal  tones,  by  quick  and  clear  ones.  The  quality  of  the 
voice  was  soft  and  musical;  the  enunciation  slow,  often 
emphatic.  His  manner  was  illustrative,  egotistic,  and 
keenly  Avatchful  of  effects. 

"You  never  heard   the   story  of    my   adventure  in  the 
mountains  ? "  Ela  began,  turning  to  me  with  the  air  of  a 
man  who  had  made  up  his  mind  to  tell  his  story. 
"No;  please  tell  it." 

'Well" — running  his  tapering  fingers  through  his  hair 
and  pulling  it  over  his  forehead—"!  started  out  in  life 
with  a  theory,  and  it  was  this:  that  no  young  man  should 
ask  a  woman  to  marry  him  until  he  had  prepared  a  home 
for  her.     Correct,  wasn't  it  ?     I  was  about  nineteen  years 
old  when  I  took  up  some  land   clown  in   the  Kogue  Eiver 
Valley,  and  worked  away  at  it  with  this  object." 
"Had  you  really  a  wife  selected  at  that  age?" 
"No;  but  it  was  the  fashion  in  early  times  in  that  coun 
try  to  marry  early,  and  I  was  getting  ready,  according  to 
my  theory;   don't  you  see?     I  was  pretty  successful,  too; 
had  considerable  stock,  built  me   a  house,  made  a  flower 
7 


98  MR.   EL  AS  STORY. 

garden  for  my  wife,  even  put  up  the  pegs  or  nails  she  was 
to  hang  her  dresses  on.  I  intended  that  fall  to  get  on  my 
horse,  ride  through  the  Wallamet  Valley,  and  find  me  my 
girl." 

At  the  notion  of  courting  in  that  off-hand,  general  style, 
both  my  husband  and  I  laughed  doubtingly.  Ela  laughed, 
too,  but  as  if  the  recollection  pleased  him. 

"You  think  that  is  strange,  do  you?  'Twasn't  so  very 
strange  in  those  days,  because  girls  were  scarce,  don't  you 
see?  There  was  not  a  girl  within  forty  miles  of  me;  and 
just  the  thought  of  one  now,  as  I  was  fixing  those  nails  to 
hang  her  garments  on;  why,  it  ran  just  through  me  like  a 
shock  of  electricity! 

"  Well,  as  I  said,  I  had  about  two  hundred  and  fifty  head 
of  cattle,  a  house  with  a  garden,  a  young  orchard,  and 
vegetables  growing;  everything  in  readiness  for  the  wife  I 
had  counted  on  getting  to  help  me  take  care  of  it.  And 
what  do  you  think  happened?  There  came  such  a  plague 
of  grasshoppers  upon  the  valley  that  they  destroyed  every 
green  thing :  crops,  orchard,  flowers,  grass,  everything! 
My  stock  died,  the  greater  portion  of  them,  and  /  was 
ruined."  (Deep  bass.)  "I  considered  myself  disappointed 
in  love,  too,  because,  though  I  hadn't  yet  found  nry  girl,  I 
knew  she  was  somewhere  in  the  valley  waiting  for  me;  and 
I  felt  somehow,  when  the  grasshoppers  ate  up  every  thing, 
as  if  I  had  been  jilted.  Actually,  it  pierces  me  with  a  pang- 
now  to  think  of  those  useless  pegs  011  which  so  often  my 
imagination  hung  a  pink  calico  dress  and  a  girl's  sun- 
bonnet." 

Knitting  his  brows,  and  sighing  as  he  shifted  his  posi 
tion,  Ela  once  more  pulled  the  hair  over  his  forehead,  in 
his  peculiar  fashion,  and  went  on: 

"I  became  misanthropic;  felt  nryself  badly  used.  Pack 
ing  up  my  books  and  a  few  other  traps,  I  started  for  the 
mountains  with  what  stock  I  had  left,  built  myself  a  fort, 
and  played  hermit." 


MR.  ELA'S  STORY.  99 

"  A  regular  fort?" 

"A  stockade  eighteen  feet  high,  with  an  embankment 
four  feet  high  around  it,  a  strong  gate,  a  tent  in  the  middle 
of  the  inclosure,  all  my  property,  such  as  books,  feed,  arms, 
etc.,  inside." 

"On  account  of  Indians?" 

"Indians  and  White  Men.  Yes,  I've  seen  a  good  many 
Indians  through  the  bead  of  my  rifle.  They  learned  to 
keep  away  from  my  fort.  There  were  mining  camps  down 
in  the  valley,  and  you  know  the  hangers-on  of  those  camps? 
I  sold  beef  to  the  miners;  had  plenty  of  money  by  me 
sometimes.  It  was  necessary  to  be  strongly  forted." 

"  What  a  strange  life  for  a  boy!  What  did  you  do?  How 
spend  your  time  ?" 

"I  herded  my  cattle,  drove  them  to  market,  cooked, 
studied,  wrote,  and  indulged  in  misanthropy,  with  a  little 
rifle  practice.  By  the  time  I  had  been  one  summer  in  the 
mountains,  I  had  got  my  hand  in,  and  knew  how  to  make 
money  buying  up  cattle  to  sell  again  in  the  mines." 

"  So  there  was  method  in  your  madness — misanthropy,  I 
mean  ?" 

"  Well,  a  man  cannot  resign  life  before  he  is  twenty-one. 
I  was  doing-  well,  and  beginning  to  think  again  of  visiting 
the  Wallametto  hunt  up  my  girl.  One  Sunday  afternoon, 
I  knew  it  was  Sunday,  because  I  kept  a  journal;  I  was  sit 
ting  outside  of  my  fort  writing,  when  a  shadow  fell  across 
the  paper,  and,  looking  up,  lo!  a  skeleton  figure  stood  be 
fore  me."  (Sepulchral  tones,  and  a  pause.)  "Used  as  I 
was  to  lonely  encounters  with  strange  men,  my  hair  stood 
on  end  as  I  gazed  on  the  spectre  before  me.  He  was  the 
merest  boy  in  years;  pretty  and  delicate  by  nature,  and 
then  reduced  by  starvation  to  a  shadow.  His  story  was 
soon  told.  He  had  left  Boston  on  a  vessel  coming  out  to 
the  northwest  coast,  had  been  wrecked  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Umpqua,  and  been  wandering  about  in  the  mountains  ever 
since,  subsisting  as  best  he  could  on  roots  and  berries.  But 
you  are  becoming  tired?" 


100  MB.  ELA'S  STORY. 

"No,  I  assure  you;  on  the  contrary,  growing  deeply  in 
terested." 

"  The  boy  was  not  a  }*oung  woman  in  disguise,  or  any 
thing  like  that,  you  know" — with  an  amused  look  at  me. 
"I  thought  you'd  think  so;  but  as  he  comes  into  the  story 
as  a  collateral,  I  just  mention  his  introduction  to  myself. 
I  fed  him  and  nursed  him  until  he  was  able  to  go  to  work, 
and  then  I  got  Sam  Chong  Lung  to  let  him  take  up  a  claim 
alongside  a  Chinese  camp,  promising  to  favor  the  Chinaman 
in  a  beef  contract  if  he  was  good  to  the  boy.  His  claim 
proved  a  good  one,  and  he  was  making  money,  when  two 
Chinamen  stole  a  lot  of  horses  from  Sam  Chong  Lung,  and 
he  offered  four  hundred  dollars  to  Edwards  if  he  would  go 
after  them  and  bring  them  back.  Edwards  asked  my  ad 
vice,  and  I  encouraged  him  to  go,  telling  him  how  to  take 
and  bring  back  his  prisoners."  (Reflective  pause.)  "You 
can't  imagine  me  living  alone,  now,  can  you  ?  Such  an  ego 
tistical  fellow  as  I  am,  and  fond  of  ladies'  society.  You 
can't  believe  it,  can  you  ?  " 

"  Hermits  and  solitaires  are  always  egotists,  I  believe. 
As  to  the  ladies,  your  loneliness  was  the  result  of  circum 
stances,  as'you  have  explained." 

"  Well,  I  should  have  missed  Edwards  a  good  deal,  if  it 
had  not  been  for  some  singular  incidents  which  happened 
during  his  absence."  Ela  always  accented  the  last  syllable 
of  any  word  ending  in  e-n-t,  like  "incident"  or  "com 
mencement,"  giving  it  besides  a  peculiar  nasal  sound, 
which  was  sure  to  secure  the  attention.  The  word  inci 
dent,  as  he  pronounced  it,  produced  quite  a  different  effect 
from  the  same  word  spoken  in  the  u?ual  style. 

"A  man  came  to  my  fort  one  day  who  was  naked  and 
starving.  He  was  a  bad-looking  fellow;  but  a  man  natur 
ally  does  look  bad  when  his  clothes  are  in  rags,  and  his 
bones  protruding  through  his  skin.  I  clothed  him,  fed 
him,  cared  for  him  kindly,  until  he  was  able  to  travel,  and 
then  he  went  away.  The  next  Sunday,  I  was  sitting  out- 


MR.   ELA'S  STORY.  101 

side  the  stockade,  as  customary,  reading  some  translations 
of  the  Greek  poets,  when,  on  raising  my  eyes  from  the 
book  to  glance  over  the  approach  to  my  fort — I  was  always 
on  the  alert — I  beheld  a  VISION.  Remember,  I  had  not 
seen  a  woman  for  a  year  and  half  !  She  was  slowly  ad 
vancing,  riding  with  superb  grace  a  horse  of  great  beauty 
and  value,  richly  caparisoned.  She  came  slowly  up  the 
trail,  as  if  to  give  me  time  for  thought,  and  I  needed  it. 
That  picture  is  still  indelibly  impressed  upon  my  mind; 
the  very  nicker  of  the  sunlight  and  shadow  across  the  road, 
and  the  glitter  of  her  horse's  trappings,  as  he  champed  his 
bit  and  arched  his  neck  with  impatience  at  her  restraining 
hand .  Are  you  very  tired  ?"  asked  Ela,  suddenly. 

"Never  less  so  in  my  life;  pray  go  on." 

"  You  see  I  had  been  alone  so  long,  and  I  am  very  sus 
ceptible.  That  vision  coming  upon  me  suddenly  as  it  did, 
in  my  solitude,  gave  me  the  strangest  sensations  I  ever  had. 
I  was  spell-bound.  Not  so  she.  Reining  in  her  horse  be 
side  me,  she  squared  around  in  her  saddle,  as  if  asking- 
assistance  to  dismount.  Struggling  with  my  embarrass 
ment,  I  helped  her  down,  and  she  accepted  my  invitation 
into  the  fort,  signifying,  at  the  same  time,  that  she  wished 
me  to  attend  to  stripping  and  feeding  her  horse.  This 
gave  us  mutually  an  opportunity  to  prepare  for  the  coming- 
interview. 

"When  I  returned  to  my  guest,  she  had  laid  aside  her 
riding-habit  and  close  sun-bonnet,  and  stood  revealed  a 
young,  beautiful,  elegantly-dressed  woman.  To  my  unac 
customed  eyes,  she  looked  a  goddess.  Her  figure  was 
noble;  her  eyes  large,  black,  and  melting;  her  hair  long 
and  curling;  her  manner  easy  and  attractive.  She  was 
hungry,  she  said;  would  I  give  her  something  to  eat?  And, 
while  I  was  on  hospitable  cares  intent,  she  read  to  me  some 
of  my  Greek  poems,  especially  an  ode  of  one  of  the  votaries 
of  Diana,  with  comments  by  herself.  She  was  a  splendid 
reader.  Well,"  said  Ela,  slowly,  with  a  furtive  glance  at 


102  MR.   ELA'X  XTORY. 

me,  and  in  Ins  peculiar  nasal  tones,  "  yon  can  guess  whether 
a  young  man,  used  to  the  mountains,  as  I  was,  and  who 
had  been  disappointed  arid  jilted  as  I  had  been,  enjoyed 
this  sort  of  thing  or  not.  It  wasn't  in  my  line,  you  see, 
this  entertaining  goddesses;  though,  doubtless,  in  this  way, 
before  now,  men  have  entertained  angels  unawares.  You 
shall  judge  whether  I  did. 

"  What  with  reading,  eating  together,  singing — she  sang 
'  Kate  Kearney '  for  me,  and  her  voice  was  glorious — our 
acquaintance  ripened  very  fast.  Finally,  I  conquered  my 
embarrassment  so  far  as  to  ask  her  some  questions  about 
herself,  and  she  told  me  that  she  was  of  a  good  New  Eng 
land  family,  raised  in  affluence,  well  educated,  accom 
plished,  but  by  a  freak  of  fortune,  reduced  to  poverty:  that 
she  had  come  to  California  resolved  to  get  money,  and  had 
got  it.  She  went  from  camp  to  camp  of  the  miners  with 
stationery,  and  other  trifling  articles  needed  by  them;  sold 
them  these  things,  wrote  letters  for  them,  sang  to  them, 
nursed  them  when  sick,  or  carried  letters  express  to  San 
Francisco,  to  be  mailed.  For  all  these  services,  she  re 
ceived  high  prices,  and  had  also  had  a  good  deal  of  gold 
given  to  her  in  specimens.  I  asked  her  if  she  liked  that 
kind  of  a  life,  so  contrary  to  her  early  training.  She  an 
swered  me:  '  It's  not  what  we  choose  that  \ve  select  to  do 
in  this  world,  but  what  chooses  us  to  do  it.  I  have  made  a 
competency,  and  gained  a  rich  and  varied  experience.  If 
life  is  not  what  I  once  dreamed  it  was,  I  am  content.'  But 
she  sighed  as  she  said  it,  and  I  couldn't  believe  in  her 
content." 

"You  have  not  told  us  yet  what  motives  brought  her  to 
you,"  I  remarked,  in  an  interval  of  silence. 

"No;  she  hadn't  told  me  herself,  then.  By  and  by,  I 
asked  her,  in  my  green  kind  of  way,  what  brought  her  to 
see  me.  I  never  shall  forget  the  smile  with  which  she 
turned  to  answer  ine.  AYe  were  sitting  quite  close:  it 
never  was  in  my  nature,  when  once  acquainted  with  a 


ME.  ELA'S  STORY.  103 

woman,  to  keep  away  from  her.  Her  garments  brushed  my 
knees;  occasionally,  in  the  enthusiasm  of  talk,  I  leaned 
near  her  cheek.  You  know  how  it  was.  I  was  thinking  of 
the  useless  pegs  in  my  house  down  in  the  valley:  'You 
will  be  disappointed/  she  said,  '  when  you  learn  that  I 
came  to  do  you  a  real  service/  And  then  she  went  on  to 
relate  that,  having  occasion  to  pass  the  night  at  a  certain 
place  not  many  miles  away,  she  had  overheard  through  the 
thin  partitions  of  the  house,  the  description  of  my  fort,  an 
account  of  mj  wealth,  real  or  supposed,  and  a  plan  for  my 
murder  and  robbery.  The  would-be  murderer  was  so  de 
scribed  as  to  make  it  quite  certain  that  it  was  he  whom  I 
had  fed,  clothed,  and  sent  away  rejoicing,  only  a  few  days 
previous.  I  was  inclined  to  treat  the  matter  as  a  jest;  but 
she  awed  me  into  belief  and  humility  at  once  by  the  maj 
esty  with  which  she  reproved  my  unbelief:  'A  woman  does 
not  trifle  with  subjects  like  this;  nor  go  out  of  her  way  to 
tell  travelers  tales.  I  warn  you.  Good  b}re.' 

"  After  this  she  would  not  stay,  though  I  awkwardly  ex 
pressed  my  regret  at  her  going.  By  her  command  I  sad 
dled  her  horse,  and  helped  her  mount  him.  Once  in  the 
saddle,  her  humor  turned,  and  she  reminded  me  that  I  had 
not  invited  her  to  return.  She  said  she  f  could  fancy  that 
a  week  of  reading,  talking,  riding,  trout-fishing,  and  ro 
mancing  generally,  up  there  in  those  splendid  woods, 
might  be  very  charming.  "Was  I  going  to  ask  her  to 
come  ?' 

"  I  didn't  ask  her.  A  young  man  with  a  reputation  to 
sustain  up  there  in  the  mountains,  couldn't  invite  a  young 
lady  to  come  and  stop  a  week  with  him,  could  he  ?  I  must 
have  refused  to  invite  her,  now,  mustn't  I?" 

The  perfect  ingenuousness  with  which  Ela  put  these 
questions,  and  the  plaintive  appeal  against  the  hard  re 
quirements  of  social  laws  in  the  mountains,  which  was 
expressed  in  his  voice  and  accent,  were  so  indescribably 
ludicrous  that  both  my  husband  and  myself  laughed  con- 


104  MR.  EL  A' 8  STORY. 

vulsively.  "I  never  tell  my  wife  that  part  of  the  story, 
for  fear  she  might  not  believe  in  my  regard  for  appear 
ances,  knowing  how  fond  I  am  of  ladies'  society.  And 
the  struggle  was  great;  I  assure  you,  it  was  great. 

"  So  she  went  away.  As  she  rode  slowly  down  the  trail, 
she  turned  and  kissed  her  hand  to  me,  with  a  gesture  of 
such  grace  and  sweetness  that  I  thrilled  all  over.  I've 
never  been  able  to  quite  forgive  myself  for  what  hap 
pened  afterward.  She  came  back,  and  I  drove  her  away  ! 
Usually,  when  I  tell  that  to  women,  they  call  me  mean  and 
ungrateful;  but  a  young  man  living  alone  in  the  mountains 
has  his  reputation  to  look  after— now,  hasn't  he  ?  That's 
what  I  ought  to  have  done — now.  wasn't  it — what  I  always 
say  I  did  do.  It  was  the  right  thing  to  do  under  the  cir 
cumstances,  wrasn't  it  ?" 

While  we  had  our  laugh  out,  Ela  shifted  position,  shook 
himself,  and  thridded  his  soft,  light  hair  with  his  slender 
fingers.  He  was  satisfied  with  his  success  in  conveying  an 
impression  of  the  sort  of  care  he  took  of  his  reputation. 
"Now,  then,  I  was  left  alone  again,  in  no  pleasant  frame 
of  mind.  I  couldn't  doubt  what  my  beautiful  visitant  had 
told  me,  and  the  thought  of  my  murder  all  planned  out  was 
depressing,  to  say  the  least  of  it.  But,  as  sure  as  I  am  tell 
ing  you,  the  departure  of  my  unknown  friend  depressed 
me  more  than  the  thought  of  my  possible  murder.  The 
gate  barred  for  the  night,  I  sat  and  looked  into  my  fire  for 
hours,  thinking  wild  thoughts,  and  hugging  to  my  lonely 
bosom  an  imaginary  form.  The  solitude  and  the  sense  of 
loss  were  awful. 

"  This  was  Sunday  night.  Tuesday  morning  I  received  a 
visit  from  three  or  four  mounted  men,  one  of  whom  was  my 
former  naked  and  hungry  protege.  He  did  not  now  try  to 
conceal  his  character  from  me,  but  said  he  was  going  down  to 
clean  out  the  Chinese  camp,  and  proposed  to  me  to  join 
him,  saying  that  when  Edwards  returned  with  the  horses 
we  would  pay  him  the  $400,  as  agreed  by  Sam  ChongLung. 


MR.  ELA'S  STORY.  105 

I  was  on  my  guard;  but  told  him  I  would  Lave  nothing  to 
do  with  robbing  the  Chinese;  that  they  were  my  friends 
and  customers,  and  he  had  better  let  them  alone;  after 
which  answer  he  went  off.  That  afternoon,  Edwards  came 
in  with  his  prisoners  and  horses.  He  was  very  tired,  on 
account  of  having  traveled  at  night,  to  prevent  the  rescue 
of  his  prisoners  by  other  vagabonds,  and  to  avoid  the  In 
dians. 

"You  will  understand  how  the  presence  of  the  horses 
increased  my  peril,  as  there  was  no  doubt  the  scoundrels 
meant  to  take  them.  It  wouldn't  do  either  to  let  Edwards  go 
on  to  the  Chinese  camp;  so  I  persuaded  him  to  wait  another 
day.  We  brought  the  prisoners,  bound,  inside  the  fort, 
and  took  care  of  the  horses.  I  said  nothing  to  Edwards  of 
my  suspicions. 

"About  dusk,  my  expected  visitor  came.  He  appeared 
to  have  been  drinking;  and,  after  some  mumbling  talk,  laid 
down  inside  the  fort,  near  the  gate.  I  made  the  gate  fast, 
driving  the  big  wooden  pins  home  with  an  axe;  built  up  a 
great  fire,  and  sent  Edwards  to  bed  in  the  tent.  The  Chi 
nese  prisoners  were  already  asleep  on  the  ground.  Then  I 
sat  down  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  fire,  facing  the  gate, 
placed  my  double-barreled  rifle  beside  me,  and  mounted 
guard." 

"  Had  you  no  arms  but  your  rifle?"  asked  my  husband, 
anxiously. 

"  I  wanted  none  other,  for  we  understood  each  other — 
my  rifle  and  I." 

"What  were  you  looking  for;  what  did  you  expect?  A 
hand-to-hand  encounter  with  these  men  ? "  was  my  next 
inquiry. 

"  It  seemed  most  likely  that  he  had  planned  an  attack  on 
the  fort.  If  so,  his  associates  would  be  waiting  outside  for 
a  signal.  He  had  intended,  when  he  laid  down  close  to  the 
gate,  to  open  it  to  them;  but  when  I  drove  the  pins  in  so 
tight,  I  caught  a  gleam  from  his  eyes  that  was  not  a  drunken 


106  M K.   ELA'S  STORY. 

one,  and  be  knew  that  I  suspected  him.  After  that,  it  was 
a  contest  of  skill  and  will  between  us.  He  was  waiting1  his 
opportunity,  and  so  was  I. 

"You  think  I've  a  quick  ear,  don't  you?  You  see  what 
my  temperament  is;  all  sense,  all  consciousness.  My  hear 
ing  was  cultivated,  too,  by  listening  for  Indians.  Well,  by 
and  by,  I  detected  a  very  stealthy  movement  outside  the 
fort,  and  then  a  faint  chirrup,  such  as  a  young  squirrel 
might  make.  In  an  instant  the  drunken  man  sprang  up; 
arid  I  covered  him  with  my  rifle,  cocked.  He  saw  the  move 
ment  and  drew  his  pistol,  but  not  before  I  had  ordered  him 
to  throw  down  his  arms,  or  DIE." 

It  is  impossible  to  convey,  by  types,  an  idea  of  Ela's 
manner  or  tone  as  he  pronounced  these  last  words.  They 
sounded  from  the  bottom  of  his  chest,  and  conveyed  in  the 
utterance  a  distinct  notion  that  death  was  what  was  meant. 
Hearing  him  repeat  the  command,  it  was  easy  to  believe 
that  the  miscreant  dared  not  do  more  than  hesitate  in  his 
obedience.  After  a  moment's  silence — which  was  the  cli 
max  to  his  rendering  of  the  scene — he  continued: 

"  I  havn't  told  you,  yet,  how  the  man  looked.  He  was  a 
tall,  swarthy,  black-bearded  fellow,  who  might  have  been 
handsome  once,  but  who  had  lost  the  look  which  distin 
guishes  men  in  sympathy  with  their  kind;  so  that  then  he 
resembled  some  cruel  beast,  in  the  shape  of  a  man,  yet 
whose  disguise  fitted  him  badly.  His  eyes  burned  like 
rubies,  out  of  the  gloomy  caverns  under  his  shaggy  eye 
brows.  His  lips  were  drawn  apart,  so  that  his  teeth  glis 
tened.  The  man's  whole  expression,  as  he  stood  there, 
glaring  at  me,  was  Hate  and  Murder. 

"My  eye  never  winked,  while  he  hesitated.  He  saw 
that,  and  it  made  him  quail.  With  my  finger  on.  the  trig 
ger,  I  kept  my  rifle  leveled,  while  he  threw  down  his  arms 
—pistols  and  knife — with  a  horrible  oath.  With  the  knife 
in  his  hand,  he  made  a  movement,  as  if  he  would  rush  on 
roe;  but  changed  his  purpose  in  time  to  stop  my  fire.  His 


MR.   ELA'S  STORY.  107 

cursing  was  awful;  the  foam  flew  from  his  mouth.  He  de 
manded  to  be  let  out  of  the  fort;  accused  me  of  bad  inten 
tions  toward  him,  and  denounced  me  for  a  robber  and 
murderer.  To  all  his  ravings  I  had  but  one  answer:  To 
be  quiet,  to  obey  me,  and  he  might  live;  dare  to  disobey 
me,  and  he  should  die. 

"  I  directed  him  to  sit  down  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
fire— not  to  move  from  that  one  spot — not  to  make 'a  doubt 
ful  motion.  And  then  I  told  him  I  knew  what  he  was,  and 
what  he  had  meant  to  do.  When  he  became  convinced  of 
this,  he  broke  down  utterly,  and  wept  like  a  child,  declar 
ing  that  now  he  knew  my  pluck,  and  I  had  been  the  first 
man  ever  to  get  the  best  of  him,  he  loved  me  like  a  brother! 

"  There  was  a  long  night  before  us,  and  I  had  got  to  sit 
there,  with  my  rifle  across  my  knees,  till  morning.  I  could 
move  a  little,  to  stir  up  or  add  to  the  fire;  but  he  could  have 
no  liberty  whatever.  The  restraint  was  horrible  to  him. 
One  moment  he  laughed  uneasily — another  cursed  or  cried. 
It  was  a  strange  scene,  wasn't  it  ?  Finally,  to  pass  the 
time,  I  asked  him  to  relate  the  history  of  his  life.  He 
wanted  first  to  shake  hands,  for  the  love  he  bore  me. 
Touching  my  rifle,  significantly,  I  pointed  to  a  stick  lying 
across  the  fire  between  us.  '  That  is  our  boundary  line; 
don't  go  to  reaching  your  hands  over  that.3  Then  he 
sank  into  a  fit  of  gloom  and  sullenness. 

"We  must  have  remained  thus  silent  until  near  mid 
night.  Several  times  I  observed  him  listening  to  slight 
sounds  outside  the  fort.  But  his  associates  must  have 
given  up  the  game  and  gone  off,  for,  as  the  morning  hours 
approached,  he  ceased  to  listen,  and  everything  remained 
quiet.  His  head  was  bent  forward,  his  chin  resting  on  his 
breast,  the  shaggy  beard  spreading  over  it  like  a  mantle." 

"  How  horrible  it  must  have  been  to  keep  such  company. 
Why  not  call  on  Edwards?" 

"  The  boy  was  worn  out,  and  there  was  no  need.  I  was 
very  much  strung  up,  too;  so  that  the  exhaustion  of  sleep- 


108  MJR.   ELA'S  STORY. 

lessness,  fatigue,  or  excitement  was  not  felt  or  noticed.  But 
he  suffered.  He  was  like  a  hyena  caged,  though  he  showed 
it  only  by  involuntary  movements  and  furtive  glances. 
Finally,  he  could  bear  it  no  longer,  and  entreated  me  pite- 
ously,  abjectly,  to  give  him  him  his  freedom  or  blow  out 
his  brains.  I  told  him  he  couldn't  have  his  freedom  just 
yet;  but  he  knew  how  to  get  his  brains  blown  out,  if  he  de 
sired  it.  Then  followed  more  execration,  ending  in  renewed 
protestations  of  regard  for  me.  I  reminded  him  that  talk 
ing  would  relieve  the  irksomeness  of  his  position,  again 
inviting  him  to  tell  me  his  history.  He  replied  that  if  he 
talked  about  himself,  he  would  be  sure  to  get  excited  and 
move  about;  but  I  promised  to  remind  him. 

"Once  on  the  subject  of  himself,  it  seemed  to  have  a 
fascination  for  him.  What  he  told  me  was,  in  substance, 
this:  He  had  been  honestly  raised,  by  good,  affectionate 
parents,  in  the  State  of  Missouri;  loved  a  young  girl  in  the 
town  where  he  lived;  and,  wishing  to  marry  her,  had  re 
solved  to  go  to  California,  to  make  the  necessary  money, 
quickly.  He  was  successful;  returned  full  of  joyful  anti 
cipations,  and  arrived  at  an  old  neighbor's,  a  few  miles 
from  his  home,  having  hardly  tasted  food  or  taken  any  rest 
the  previous  twenty-four  hours. 

"While  he  hastily  ate  some  breakfast  and  listened  to  the 
friendly  gossip  of  his  entertainers,  one  name,  the  name  of 
her  he  loved,  his  promised  wife,  was  mentioned.  Slw  was 
married.  He  staggered  to  his  feet,  asking  the  name  of  her 
husband;  and  when  he  heard  it,  he  knew  he  had  been  be 
trayed  by  that  man.  He  could  recall  a  strange  sensation 
in  his  brain,  as  if  molten  lead  had  been  poured  into  it;  that 
was  the  last  of  his  recollections.  Afterward,  he  learned 
that  he  had  been  wTeeks  in  a  brain  fever. 

"When  he  had  recovered,  some  of  his  old  friends,  think 
ing  to  do  him  honor,  made  an  evening  party  for  him.  To 
this  party  came  his  love,  and  her  husband;  his  betrayer. 
When  she  gave  her  hand  to  welcome  him  home,  and  looked 


MR.  ELA'S  STORY.  109 

in  hia  eyes,  he  knew  that  she  too  had  been  betrayed.  Again 
the  molten  lead  seemed  poured  upon  his  brain.  Turning 
to  leave  the  room,  fate  placed  in  his  path  the  man  he  now 
hated  with  a  deadly  hatred.  "With  one  blow  of  a  knife,  he 
laid  him  dead  at  his  feet.  A  few  hours  later,  in  the  despe 
ration  of  trying  to  escape,  he  killed  two  other  men.  Then 
he  eluded  his  pursuers,  and  got  back  to  California.  Since 
then  he  had  reveled  in  murder,  and  every  species  of  crime. 
Once  he  had  seen,  in  the  streets  of  Sacramento,  the  woman 
he  loved.  Up  to  that  moment,  it  had  never  occurred  to 
him  that  she  was  free.  Following  her  to  her  home,  he 
forced  himself  into  her  house,  and  reminded  her  of  their 
former  relations.  She  had  denied  all  knowledge  of  him, 
finally  calling  upon  her  husband  to  satisfy  him.  The  hus 
band  ordered  him  out  of  the  house,  and  he  shot  him.  Then 
the  Vigilantes  made  it  hazardous  to  remain  in  California. 
He  fled  to  the  mountains,  where  he  was  nearly  starved  out, 
when  I  took  him  in  and  fed  and  clothed  him. 
•  "  Such  was  his  story.  My  blood  curdled  in  my  veins,  as 
I  listened  to  the  recitals  of  his  atrocities.  'In  God's 
name,'  I  said,  '  who  are  you — what  is  your  name?'  'I  am 
BOONE  HELM.'  ' 

"  Who  was  Boone  Helm  ?"  I  asked. 

"One  of  the  greatest  desperadoes  that  ever  was  on  this 
coast.  He  met  his  fate,  afterward,  up  east  of  the  mount 
ains/' 

"  What  did  you  do  with  him?  What  could  you  do  with 
him  ?"  . 

"You  ought  to  have  shot  him  while  you  had  him,"  my 
husband  suggested. 

"/  didn't  want  to  shoot  him.  He  said,  if  I  had  been  a 
coward,  I  would  have  killed  him.  To  confess  the  truth, 
the  wretch  appealed  to  my  sympathies.  I  don't  think  he 
had  ever  been  sane  since  the  time  when  he  felt  the  '  molten 
lead  poured  into  his  brain.'  I  knew  somebody  was  sure  to 
kill  him,  before  long;  so,  when  morning  came,  I  called 


110  MIL  ELA'S  HTORY. 

Edwards  to  open  the  gate;  and,  when  it  was  unbarred, 
escorted  my  visitor  out,  telling-  him  that  there  was  not 
room  enough  in  that  part  of  the  country  for  both  of  us, 
and  that  the  next  time  I  pointed  my  rifle  at  him  it  would 
be  to  shoot.  I  never  saw  him  again." 

"  Then  he  did  not  molest  the  Chinese  camp  ?" 

"No.  Edwards  got  his  four  hundred  dollars,  and  went 
home  to  Boston." 

There  fell  a  silence  upon  us,  and,  through  my  open  door, 
I  could  see  that  the  cabin  was  nearly  deserted.  Ela  seemed 
wearied — sighed,  and  made  a  movement,  as  if  to  go. 

"What  about  your  Guardian  Angel?"  my  husband 
asked.  "  You  have  not  told  us  about  her  second  coming." 

"I  always  say  that  she  didn't  come;  or  else  I  say  that 
she  came,  and  I  drove  her  away.  That  is  proper;  isn't  it, 
now?"  glancing  at  me. 

"  But  /want  to  know  if  you  have  seen  her — if  you  never 
met  her  anywhere  in  the  world — since  that  time.  I  have  a 
right  to  be  curious — }Tes,  or  no?"  I  urged,  laughingly. 

"How  do  you  feel,  now  ?" — with  a  light  laugh  and  pe 
culiar  change  of  expression. 

"O,  better;  a  great  deal  better.  To  be  perfectly  cured, 
I  only  need  to  hear  the  sequel." 

"I  may  as  well  tell  it,  I  suppose.  It  has  been  running 
in  my  head  all  day.  Wouldn't  want  my  wife  to  know  it. 
Didn't  think  of  meeting  her  when  I  came  down  to  'Frisco. 
You  see,  I've  been  in  Oregon  a  long  while — never  traveled 
on  a  railroad  in  my  life — wanted  to  see  something  of  the 
great  outside  world — and  so,  ran  down  to  the  great  city  to 
see  the  sights.  The  first  thing  I  did,  I  went  up  to  Colfax, 
on  the  cars;  and  while  I  was  up  there,  the  engineer  invited 
me  to  take  a  ride  on  the  engine — a  special  one.  Now,  I 
knew  that  he  meant  to  astonish  me,  because  he  thought  I 
was  green;  and  I  didn't  know,  really,  how  fast  the  thing 
ought  to  run.  But  we  came  down  the  grade  with  a  speed 
that  was  ter-rif-ic! — more  than  a  mile  a  minute,  the  engi- 


MR.  ELA'S  STORY.  HI 

neer  said.  When  we  got  to  Lincoln,  the  fellow  asked  me, 
with  his  superior  sort  of  smile,  '  How  I  liked  that  rate  of 
travel?'  I  told  him  I  liked  that  pretty  well;  'but,  I  sup 
pose,  when  you  want  to  make  time,  you  can  travel  at  a 
considerably  more  accelerated  rate  of  locomotion  ?'  " 

How  we  laughed  at  the  natural  drollery  of  the  man,  the 
deliberate  utterance,  the  unsophisticated  air.  While  we 
laughed,  he  prepared  himself  to  finish  his  story. 

"It  was  only  day  before  yesterday,"  he  said,  "that  I  met 
her.  I  happened  to  be  in  the  parlor  of  the  hotel  when  she 
came  in.  At  first,  I  wasn't  certain  of  its  being  her;  but,  as 
I  watched  her,  I  became  certain  of  it.  And  she  recognized 
me;  I  felt  certain  of  that,  too.  It  was  in  the  early  part  of 
the  evening,  and  I  had  to  wait  until  the  people  in  the  par 
lor  would  disperse.  She  saw  what  I  was  waiting  for,  and 
stayed,  too;  she  told  me  with  her  eyes  that  she  remembered. 
After  a  while  she  went  to  the  piano,  and  played  and  sang 
'Kate  Kearney.'  Then  I  was  satisfied  that  she  would  not 
leave  me  before  I  had  spoken  to  her.  As  soon  as  the  op 
portunity  came,  we  confessed  ourselves." 

"Was  she  married?  was  she  happy?" 

"She  was  married,  yes.  Happy?  she  told  me,  as  she 
had  once  before,  that  she  was  '  content.'  She  said  it  with 
a  sigh,  as  she  did  the  first  time;  and  I  doubted  her  as  I  did 
then.  But  they  are  putting  out  the  lights.  There  is  al 
ways,  in  this  world,  somebody  going  around,  putting  out 
our  lights.  Good-night/' 

"Good-night." 


112  ON    THE  SANDS. 


ON    THE  .SANDS. 

I  WAS  summering  at  our  Oregon  Newport,  known  to  us 
by  the  aboriginal  name  of  Clatsop.  Had  a  balloonist, 
uninstructed  in  the  geography  and  topography  of  this  por 
tion  of  the  Pacific  coast,  dropped  down  among  us,  his 
impression  would  have  been  that  he  had  alighted  in  a  mili 
tary  encampment,  very  happily  chosen,  as  military  encamp 
ments  usually  are. 

Given,  one  long,  low,  whitewashed  house  enclosed  by 
whitewashed  pickets;  a  group  of  tents  outside  the  enclosure 
and  on  the  bank  of  a  beautiful  graveled-bottom,  tree-shad 
owed  stream,  and  you  have  the  brief  summing  up  of  ac 
commodations  for  summer  visitors  at  Clatsop.    The  plentiful 
sprinkling  of  army  buttons  among  the  guests— for  there  are 
two  forts  within  a  three  hours'  ride  of  this  beach— tend  to 
confirm  the  impression   of   military  possession.     Besides, 
our  host  of  the  whitewashed  hotel  is  a  half-breed;  and  there 
is  enough  of  the  native  element  hanging  about  the  place, 
picking  berries  and  digging  clams,  to  suggest  an  Indian 
family  where  a  temporary  station  might  be  demanded.     It 
would  only  be  by  peeping  inside  those  tents  where  ladies 
and  children  are  more  numerous  than  bearded  men,  that 
one  could  be  convinced  of  the  gypsy  nature  of  this  encamp 
ment;  though,  to  be  sure,  one  need  not  press  inside  to  find 
them,  for  the  gay  campers  are  sauntering  about  in  all  direc 
tions,  ladies  with  their  escorts,  children  with  their  nurses, 
parties   returning   from    boating   or  fishing,   or   riding   or 
bathing:  everybody  living  out  in  the  open  air  the  whole  day 
through  on  one  pretense  or  another,  and  only  repairing  to 
the  hotel  at  meal  times,  when  the  exquisite  dishes  prepared 
by  French  half-breeds  suffer  the  most  instant  demolition- 
such  hunger  does  open  air  inspire. 


ON  THE  SANDS.  113 

I  had  come  here  just  invalid  enough  to  be  benefited  by 
our  primitive  style  of  living;  not  too  delicate  to  endure  it, 
nor  too  robust  to  enjoy  the  utter  vagabondism  of  it.  There 
had  been  no  necessity  upon  us  to  ape  fashionable  manners; 
no  obligation  to  dress  three  times  a  day;  no  balls  to  weary 
ourselves  with  at  night.  Therefore  this  daily  recurring  pic 
nic  was  just  sufficient  for  our  physical  recreation,  while  our 
mental  powers  took  absolute  rest.  For  weeks  I  had  arisen 
every  morning  to  a  breakfast  of  salmon-trout.  French 
coffee  (au  lait),  delicious  bread,  and.  fresh  berries;  and 
afterwards  to  wander  about  in  the  cool  sea-fog,  well  wrap 
ped  up  in  a  water-proof  cloak.  Sometimes  we  made  a 
boating  party  up  the  lovely  Neah-can-a-cum,  pulling  our 
boat  along  under  the  overhanging  alders  and  maples, 
frightening  the  trout  into  their  hiding-places  under  the 
banks,  instead  of  hooking  them  as  was  our  ostensible  de 
sign.  The  limpid  clearness  of  the  water  seemed  to  reflect 
the  trees  from  the  very  bottom,  and  truly  made  a  medium 
almost  as  transparent  as  air,  through  which  the  pebbles  at 
the  greatest  depth  appeared  within  reach  of  our  hands.  A 
morning  idled  away  in  this  manner,  and  an  afternoon  spent 
in  seeing  the  bathers — I  never  trust  my  easily  curdled  blood 
to  the  chill  of  the  sea — and  in  walking  along  the  sands  with 
a  friend,  or  dreaming  quietly  by  myself  as  I  watched  the 
surf  rolling  in  all  the  way  from  Tilamook  Head  to  Cape 
Disappointment, — these  were  my  daily  labors  and  recrea 
tions.  The  arrival  of  a  bundle  of  letters,  or,  still  better, 
of  a  new  visitor,  made  what  variety  there  was  in  our  life. 

I  had  both  of  these  excitements  in  one  day.  One  of  my 
correspondents  had  written:  "I  hope  to  see  you  soon,  and 
to  have  the  opportunity,  long  sought,  of  telling  you  some 
of  the  experiences  of  my  early  life.  When.  I  promised  you 
this  I  had  not  anticipated  the  pleasure  of  talking  over  the 
recollections  of  my  youth  while  listening  with  you  to  the 
monotone  of  the  great  Pacific,  whose  '  ever,  forever '  is  more 
significant  to  me  than  to  most  lovers  of  its  music.  I  never 


114  ON  THE  SANDS. 

gaze  upon  its  restless  waves,  nor  hear  the  sound  of  their 
ripple  on  the  sands,  or  their  thunder  on  the  rocks  without 
being  reminded  of  one  episode  in  my  life  peculiarly  agitat 
ing-  to  remember;  but  perhaps  when  I  have  told  it  to  you, 
you  may  have  power  to  exercise  the  restless  spirit  which 
rises  in  me  at  the  recollection." 

So  liere  was  promise  of  the  intellectual  aliment  I  had 
begun  to  crave  after  all  these  weeks  of  physical,  without 
mental,  action.  I  folded  my  letter  with  a  feeling  Of  self- 
congratulation,  and  turned  to  watch  the  movements  of  a 
newly  arrived  party  for  whom  our  half-breed  host  was 
spreading  a  tent,  and  placing  in  it  rather  an  extra  amount 
of  furniture;  for,  be  it  known  to  the  uninitiated,  we  had 
platform  floors  under  our  tents,  real  bedsteads,  dressing- 
bureaus,  rugs,  and  other  comforts  to  match.  That  our  new 
arrival  exceeded  us  in  elegant  conveniences  was,  of  course, 
duly  noted  by  such  idlers  as  we. 

The  party  consisted  of  a  lady,  a  little  girl  of  ten,  and  a 
Kanaka  servant.  The  lady's  name,  we  learned,  was  Mrs. 
Saucy,  and  she  was  from  the  Sandwich  Islands.  More  than 
that  no  one  was  informed.  We  discussed  her  looks,  her 
manners,  her  dress,  and  her  probable  circumstances,  as  we 
sat  around  the  camp-fire  that  evening,  after  the  way  of  idle 
people.  It  occurred  to  me,  as  I  glanced  toward  her  tent 
door,  illuminated  by  our  blazing  fire,  and  saw  her  regarding 
the  weird  scene  with  evident  admiration  of  its  picturesque- 
ness,  to  ask  her  to  come  and  sit  with  us  and  help  us  eat 
roast  potatoes — roasted  as  they  cook  pigs  in  the  Islands,  by 
covering  up  in  the  ground  with  hot  stones.  The  fact  that 
the  potatoes,  and  the  butter  which  went  with  them,  were 
purloined  from  our  host's  larder,  gave  a  special  flavor  to 
the  feast — accompanied  as  it  was,  too,  by  instrumental  and 
vocal  music,  and  enlivened  by  sallies  of  wit. 

Mrs.  Sancy  seemed  to  enjoy  the  novelty  of  her  surround 
ings,  contributing  her  quota  to  the  general  fund  of  mirth 
and  sparkling  talk,  and  I  congratulated  myself  on  having 


ON   THE  SANDS.  115 

acquired  an  interesting  acquaintance,  whose  cheerfulness, 
notwithstanding  the  partial  mourning  of  her  dress,  prom 
ised  well  for  its  continuance.  Had  she  been  sad  or  re 
served  she  certainly  would  not  have  been  sought  as  she  was 
by  our  pleasure-loving  summer  idlers,  consequently  my 
chances  of  becoming  intimate  with  her  would  have  been 
greatly  abridged.  As  she  was,  she  soon  became,  without 
question,  one  of  the  chief  social  attractions ;  easily  falling 
into  our  vagabond  ways,  yet  embellishing  them  with  so  much 
grace  and  elegance  that  they  became  doubly  precious  to  us 
on  account  of  the  new  charm  imparted  to  them.  All  the 
things  any  of  us  could  do,  Mrs.  Sancy  could  do  better;  and 
one  thing  she  could  do  that  none  of  the  rest  of  us  could, 
which  was  to  swim  out  and  float  herself  in  on  a  surf-board, 
like  a  native  island  woman;  and  seeing  Mrs.  Sancy  do  this 
became  one  of  the  daily  sensations  of  Clatsop  Beach. 

I  had  known  Mrs.  Sancy  about  one  week,  and  came  to 
like  her  extremely,  not  only  for  her  brilliant,  social  quali 
ties,  but  on  account  of  her  native  originality  of  thought, 
and  somewhat  peculiar  culture.  I  say  peculiar,  because 
her  thinking  and  reading  seemed  to  be  in  the  byways  rather 
than  the  highways  of  ordinary  culture.  If  she  made  a  figure 
of  speech,  ^t  was  something  noticeably  original;  if  she 
quoted  an  author,  it  was  one  unfamiliar  though  forcible. 
And  so  she  constantly  supplied  my  mind  with  novelties 
which  I  craved,  and  became  like  a  new  education  to  me. 
One  forenoon,  a  misty  one,  we  were  out  on  the  beach  alone, 
wrapped  up  in  water-proofs,  pacing  up  and  down  the  sands, 
and  watching  the  grey  sullen  sea,  or  admiring  the  way  in 
which  the  masses  of  fog  roll  in  among  the  tops  of  the  giant 
firs  on  Tilamook  Head,  and  were  torn  into  fragments,  and 
tangled  among  them. 

"You  never  saw  the  like  of  this  in  the  islands?"  I  said, 
meaning  the  foggy  sea,  and  the  dark,  fir-clad  mountains. 

"I  have  seen  this  before;"  she  answered,  waving  her  hand 
to  indicate  the  scene  as  we  then  beheld  it.  "You  look  sur- 


116  ON   THE  SANDS. 

prised,  but  I  am  familiar  with  every  foot  of  this  ground.  I 
have  lived  years  in  this  neighborhood — right  over  there,  in 
fact,  under  the  Head.  This  spot  has,  in  truth,  a  strong  fas 
cination  for  me,  and  it  was  to  see  it  once  more  that  I  made 
the  voyage." 

"  You  lived  in  this  place,  and  liked  it  years  ago!  How 
strange!  It  is  but  a  wilderness  still,  though  a  pleasant  one, 
I  admit." 

She  gave  me  a. playfully  superior  smile:  "  We  are  apt  to 
think  ourselves  the  discoverers  of  every  country  where  we 
chance  to  be  set  down;  and  so  Adam  thought  he  was  the 
first  man  on  the  earth,  though  his  sons  went  out  and  found 
cities  were  they  learned  the  arts  of  civilization.  So  birth, 
and  love,  and  death,  never  cease  to  be  miracles  to  us,  not 
withstanding  the  millions  who  have  been  born,  and  loved, 
and  died,  before  our  experience  began." 

"But  how  did  it  happen,"  I  urged,  unable  to  repress  my 
curiosity,  "that  you  lived  here,  in  this  place,  years  ago? 
That  seems  so  strange  to  me." 

"My  parents  brought  me  here  when  a  little  child.  It  is 
a  common  enough  history.  My  mother  was  an  enthusiast 
with  brain,  who  joined  her  fortunes  to  those  of  an  enthu 
siast  without  brain,  and  emigrated  to  this  coast,  when  it  was 
an  Indian  country,  in  the  vain,  hope  of  doing  good  to  the 
savages.  They  only  succeeded  in  doing  harm  to  themselves, 
and  indirectly,  harm  to  the  savages  also.  The  spirit  of  the 
man  became  embittered,  and  the  mean  traits  of  his  nature 
asserted  themselves,  and  wreaked  their  malice,  as  is  custom 
ary  with  mean  natures,  on  the  nearest  or  most  inoffensive 
object.  My  poor  mother!  Maternity  was  marred  for  you 
by  fear  and  pain  and  contempt;  and  whatever  errors  your 
child  has  fallen  into,  were  an  evil  inheritance  that  only  years 
of  suffering  and  discipline  could  eradicate." 

As  Mrs.  Sancy  pronounced  the  last  sentence,  she  seemed 
for  the  moment  to  have  forgotten  my  presence,  and  stood, 
looking  off  over  the  calm  grey  sea,  with  absent  unrecogniz- 


0^   THE  SANDS,  117 

After  a  brief  silence  she  turned  to  me- with  a 
smile:  " Pardon  my  mental  desertion.  It  is  not  good  to 
talk  of  our  own  lives.  We  all  become  Adams  again,  and 
imagine  ourselves  sole  in  the  universe." 

On  this  hint  I  changed  the  conversation,  and  we  returned 
to  the  hotel  to  lunch,  after  which,  I  saw  no  more  of  Mrs. 
Sancy  for  that  day. 

That  afternoon,  my  correspondent,  Mr.  Kittredge  arrived; 
and  as  it  was  bright  and  sunny  after  the  fog,  we  took  a  boat, 
and  pulled  along  under  the  alders  that  shade  the  Neah-can- 
a-cum.  It  was  there  that  I  listened  to  this  story: 

"  While  I  was  still  a  young  man,  nearly  fifteen  years  ago. 
I  floated  on  this  stream,  as  we  are  doing  to-day.  My  com 
panion  was  a  young  girl  whom  I  shall  call  Teresa.  She  was 
very  young,  I  remember  now  with  sorrow,  and  very  beauti 
ful;  though  beautiful  is  not  so  much  the  word  to  describe 
her  as  charming — magnetic,  graceful,  intelligent.  A  lithe, 
rather  tall  figure,  a  high-bred,  sensitive,  fine  face,  and  pleas 
ing  manners.  She  seemed  older  than  she  really  was,  on 
account  of  her  commanding  physique  and  distinguished 
manner. 

"I  will  not  go  over  the  details  of  our  acquaintance,  which 
ripened  rapidly  into  love;— so  I  thought.  This  was  a  new 
country  then,  even  more  emphatically  that  it  is  now;  new 
with  the  charm  of  novelty — not  new  because  it  had  ceased 
to  progress,  as  is  now  the  case.  Scattered  around  here 
within  a  radius  of  a  dozen  miles  were  half-a-dozen  other 
young  men  like  myself,  who  had  immigrated  to  the  far  west, 
in  the  spirit  of  romantic  adventure;  and  once  here,  were 
forced  to  do  whatever  came  to  our  hands  to  gain  a  subsist 
ence.  I  lived  on  a  farm  which  I  improved,  keeping  house 
quite  by  myself,  and  spending  my  leisure  hours  in  study. 
Of  course,  the  other  young  men,  similarly  situated,  often 
visited  me,  and  we  usually  talked  over  authors,  or  such 
questions  of  the  day  as  we  were  familiar  with  or  interested 
in. 


118  ON  THE  SANDS. 

"  But  one  evening-  love  was  the  theme  of  our  conversation, 
and  iiicidently,  Teresa's  name  was  mentioned  among-  us.  I 
don't  know  who  first  uttered  it,  but  I  observed  at  once,  that 
the  faces  of  all  three  of  my  companions  betra}red  an  inter 
est  too  strong  and  too  peculiar  to  be  attributed  to  an  or 
dinary  acquaintanceship  with  the  subject  of  our  remarks. 
For  myself,  I  felt  my  own  face  flushing  hotly,  as  a  horrible 
suspicion  seized  my  consciousness,  becoming  on  the  instant, 
conviction  too  painful  to  endure. 

"You  being  a  woman,  cannot  imagine  the  situation.  I 
believed  myself  to  be  Teresa's  accepted  lover;  and  so  I  knew 
intuitively,  did  all  my  three  companions;  their  faces  re 
vealing  their  thoughts  to  me,  as  did  mine  to  them.  What 
ever  you  women  do  in  the  presence  of  your  rivals,  I  know 
not.  Men  rage.  It  is  not  often,  either,  that  a  man  en 
counters  more  than  one  rival  at  a  time.  But  three! — each 
of  us  poor  rivals  saw  three  rivals  before  him.  Whatever  of 
friendship  had  hitherto  existed  among  us  was  forgotten  in 
the  extreme  anguish  of  the  moment,  and  we  sat  glaring  at 
each  other  in  silence,  with  heaving  chests  and  burning 
brows. 

4 'All  but  Charlie  Darling— darling  Charlie,  we  used  to 
call  him— his  face  was  deathly  white,  and  his  eyes  glowed 
like  a  panther's  in  the  dark.  Yet  he  was  the  first  to  re 
cover  himself.  '  Boys,'  said  he,  c  we  ought  not  to  have 
brought  a  lady's  name  into  the  discussion ;  but  since  Teresa's 
has  been  mentioned,  we  may  as  well  have  an  understand 
ing.  I  consider  the  young  lady  as  engaged  to  me,  and  you 
will  please  remember  that  fact  when  you  are  talking  of  her.' 

"He  said  it  bravely,  proudly,  though  his  lip  trembled  a 
little,  but  he  eyed  us  unflinchingly.  No  one  replied  for 
some  moments.  Then  Tom  Allen,  a  big  clumsy,  good- 
hearted,  but  conceited  fellow,  lifted  his  eyes  slowly,  and 
answered  with  a  hysterical  laugh:  '  You  may  be  her  darling- 
Charlie,  but  I'll  be  d — d  if  I  am  not  to  be  her  husband  ! ' 

"  This  was  the  match  to  the  powder.     Charlie,  myself, 


ON  THE  SANDS.  119 

and  Harry  King,  each  sprang  simultaneously  forward,  as 
if  we  meant  to  choke  poor  Tom  for  his  words.  Again 
Charlie  was  the  first  to  use  reason: 

"'Hold,  boys;'  cried  he  hoarsely;  'let  us  take  a  little 
time  to  reflect.  Two  of  us  have  declared  ourselves  to  be 
engaged  to  Teresa.  Let  us  hear  if  she  contemplates  mar 
rying  King  and  Kittredge,  also.  What  do  you  say,  King? ' 

" '  I  say  yes! '  thundered  King,  bending  his  black  brows, 
and  bringing  down  his  fist  on  the  table  by  which  he  stood. 

"  '  And  /say,  I  contemplate  marrying  her,'  was  my  an 
swer  to  Charlie's  challenge. 

"  Charlie  flung  himself  into  a  chair,  and  covered  his  face 
with  his  hands.  The  action  touched  some  spring  in  our 
ruder  natures  which  responded  in  sympathy  for  our  favorite, 
and  had  the  effect  to  calm  us,  in  manner  at  least.  I  mo 
tioned  the  others  to  sit  down,  and  addressed  myself  to 
Charlie  Darling.  'See  here,  Charlie V  I  said,  'it  seems 
that  Teresa  has  been  playing  us  false.  A  girl  who  could  be 
engaged  to  four  young  men  at  once  cannot  be  worth  the 
regards  of  any  of  us.  Let  us  investigate  the  matter,  and 
if  she  is  truly  guilty  of  such  falsehood,  let  us  one  and  all 
quit  her  forever  without  a  word  of  explanation.  "What  do 
you  say?  do  you  agree  to  that?  ' 

"  'How  are  you  going  to  investigate?'  asked  Tom  Allen, 
roughly.  '  Have  not  we  each  declared  that  she  was  com 
mitted  to  us  individually,  and  what  more  can  be  said?' 

"  'It  appears  incredible  to  me  that  any  girl,  much  less  a 
girl  like  Teresa,  could  so  compromise  her  self-respect  as  to 
encourage  four  suitors,  each  in  such  a  manner  as  that  he 
expected  to  marry  her.  It  is  so  strange  that  I  cannot  be 
lieve  it,  except  each  man  swears  to  his  statement.  Can  we 
all  swear  to  it?' 

"I  laid  my  little  pocket-bible  on  the  table,  and  set  the 
example  of  taking  an  oath  to  the  effect  that  Teresa  had  en 
couraged  me  to  believe  that  she  meant  to  marry  me.  King 
and  Allen  followed  with  a  similar  oath.  Charlie  Darling 


120  ON  THE  SANDS. 

was  the  last  to  take  the  oath;  but  as  he  did  so,  a  gleam  of 
gladness  broke  over  his  pale,  handsome  face;  for  he  could 
word  his  oath  differently  from  ours.  '  I  swear  before  these 
witnesses  and  Almighty  God/  said  Charlie,  '  that  Teresa 
Bryant  is  my  promised  wife.' 

That  takes  the  wind  out  of  our  sails/  remarked  Allen. 
: '  Do  you  allow  other  men  to  kiss  your  promised  wife  ?' 
asked  King,  with  a  sneer. 

"  Charlie  sprang  at  King,  and  had  his  hand  on  his  throat 
in  an  instant;  but  Allen  and  I  interfered  to  part  them.  It 
was  no  difficult  matter,  for  Darling,  excited  as  he  was,  felt 
the  force  of  my  observations  on  the  quarrel.  I  said:  <  Shall 
a  trifling  girl  make  us  enemies,  when  she  has  so  behaved 
that  no  one  of  us  can  trust  her.  You,  Darling,  do  not,  can 
not  have  confidence  in  her  promise,  after  all  you  have  this 
night  learned.  You  had  best  accept  my  first  suggestion, 
and  join  with  the  rest  of  us  in  renouncing  her  forever  and 
at  once/ 

'That  /will  not/  broke  out  King,  vehemently.  '  Her 
word  is  no  better  than  her  acts,  and  I  have  as  much  right 
to  her  as  Charlie  Darling,  or  either  of  you,  and  I'll  not  give 
up  the  right  to  a  man  of  you.'3 

'We'll  have  to  fight  a  four-cornered  duel/ remarked 
Tom  Allen,  beginning  to  see  the  ludicrous  side  of  the  affair. 
'  Shall  we  choose  up,  two  on  a  side?' 

'I  will  withdraw  my  pretensions/  I  reiterated,  'if  the 
others  will  do  so,  or  even  if  King  and  Allen  will  quit  the 
field  to  Charlie,  who  feels  himself  bound  by  Teresa's  prom 
ise  to  him.' 

'I  have  said  I  would  not  withdraw/  replied  King,  sul 
lenly.  And  thus  we  contended,  hot-browed  and  angry- 
voiced,  for  more  than  an  hour.  Then  rough  but  practical 
Tom  proposed  a  scheme,  which  was  no  less  than  to  compel 
Teresa  to  decide  between  us.  After  long  deliberation,  an 
agreement  was  entered  into,  and  I  hope  I  shall  not  shock 
you  too  much  when  I  tell  you  what  it  was." 


ON  THE  SANDS.  121 

Kittredge  paused,  and  looked  at  me  doubtingly.  I 
glanced  aside  at  the  over-hanging  trees,  the  glints  of  sun 
shine  on  the  bank,  a  brown  bird  among  the  leaves,  at  any 
thing,  rather  than  him,  for  he  was  living  over  again  the  ex 
citement  of  that  time,  and  bis  face  was  not  pleasant  to 
study.  After  a  little  waiting,  I  answered: 

"I  must  know  the  remainder  of  the  story,  since  I  know 
so  much;  what  did  you  agree  upon?" 

"  A  plan  was  laid  by  which  Teresa  should  be  confronted 
with  her  four  lovers,  and  forced  to  explain  her  conduct. 
To  carry  out  our  design  it  was  necessary  to  use  artifice,  and 
I  was  chosen  as  the  one  who  should  conduct  the  affair.  I 
invited  her  to  accompany  me  to  a  neighboring  farm-house 
to  meet  the  young  folks  of  the  settlement.  There  was 
nothing  unusual  in  this,  as  in  those  primitive  times  great 
latitude  was  granted  to  young  people  in  their  social  inter 
course.  To  mount  her  horse  and  ride  several  miles  to  a 
neighbor's  house  with  a  single  escort,  not  to  return  until 
far  into  the  night,  was  the  common  privilege  of  any  young 
lady,  and  therefore  there  was  no  difficulty  about  obtaining 
either  her  consent  or  that  of  her  parents  to  my  proposition. 

"We  set  off  just  at  sunset,  riding  along  the  beach  some 
distance,  admiring  the  gorgeous  western  sky,  the  peaceful 
sea,  and  watching  the  sand-pipers  skating  out  on  the  wet 
sands  after  every  receding  wave.  I  had  never  seen  Teresa 
more  beautiful,  more  sparkling,  or  more  fascinating  in 
every  way;  and  my  heart  grew  '  very  little'  as  the  Indians 
say.  It  was  impossible  to  accuse  her  even  in  my  thoughts, 
while  under  that  bewitching  influence.  She  was  so  full  of 
life  and  vivacity  that  she  did  not  observe  the  forced  de 
meanor  I  wore,  or  if  she  did,  had  too  much  tact  to  seem  to 
do  so.  As  for  me,  guarded  both  by  my  hidden  suspicions 
and  by  my  promise  to  my  friends,  I  uttered  no  word  of  ten 
derness  or  admiration  with  my  tongue,  whatever  my  eyes 
may  have  betrayed. 

"  The  road  we  were  going  led  past  my  house.     ^Yhen  we 


122  ON  THE  SANDS. 

were  almost  abreast  of  it  I  informed  Teresa  that  there  were 
some  of  our  friends  waiting  for  us  there,  and  invited  her 
to  alight.  "Without  suspicion  she  did  so.  -  —  Don't  look 
at  me  that  way,  if  you  can  help  it.  It  was  terribly  mean 
of  us  fellows,  as  I  see  it  now.  It  looked  differently  then; 
and  we  had  none  of  us  seen  much  of  the  world  and  were 
rude  in  our  notions  of  propriety. 

"  When  she  came  inside  of  the  house  and  sawT  only  three 
men  in  place  of  the  girls  of  her  acquaintance  she  expected 
to  meet,  she  cast  a  rapid,  surprised  glance  all  round, 
blushed,  asked,  'where  are  the  girls?'-— all  in  the  most 
natural  manner.  There  was  positively  nothing  in  her  de 
portment  to  betray  a  guilty  conscience.  I  recognized  that, 
and  so,  I  could  see,  did  Darling.  He  made  haste  to  hand 
her  a  chair,  which  she  declined,  still  looking  about  her  with 
a  puzzled,  questioning  air.  I  wras  getting  nervous  already 
over  my  share  in  the  business,  and  so  plunged  at  once  into 
explanation. 

"  '  Teresa,'  I  said,  '  we  four  fellows  have  made  a  singular 
discovery,  recently,  to  the  effect  that  we  each  believed  him 
self  to  be  your  accepted  lover.  We  have  met  together  to 
hear  your  explanation.  Is  there  a  man  in  the  house  you 
are  engaged  to  ?  " 

"  She  gave  one  quick,  scrutinizing  glance  at  our  faces, 
and  read  in  them  that  we  were  in  earnest.  Indeed,  the 
scene  would  have  given  scope  to  the  genius  of  a  Hogarth. 
Alternate  red  and  white  chased  each  other  in  quick  succes 
sion  over  her  brow,  cheeks,  neck.  Her  eyes  scintillated, 
and  her  chest  heaved. 

"  '  Please  answer  us,  Teresa,'  said  Darling,  after  a  most 
painful  silence  of  a  minute,  which  seemed  an  hour. 

"She  raised  her  flashing  63*68  to  his,  and  her  tones 
seemed  to  stab  him  as  she  uttered,  '  You?  you  too?  '  Then 
gathering  up  her  riding-skirt,  she  made  haste  to  leave  us, 
but  found  the  door  guarded  by  Tom  Allen.  When  she  saw 
that  she  was  really  a  prisoner  among  us,  alarm  seized  her, 


ON  THE  SANDS.  123 

and  woman-like,  she  began  to  cry,  but  not  passionately  or 
humbly.  Her  spirit  was  still  equal  to  the  occasion,  and 
she  faced  us  with  the  tears  running  over  her  cheeks. 

"  'If  there  is  a  man  among  you  with  a  spark  of  honor, 
open  tliis  door!  Mr.  Kittredge,  this  is  your  house.  Allow 
me  to  ask  if  I  am  to  be  retained  a  prisoner  in  it,  or  what 
you  expect  to  gain  by  my  forcible  detention?" 

"  Tom  Allen  whispered  something  unheard  by  any  save 
her,  and  she  struck  at  him  with  her  riding-whip.  This 
caused  both  Darling  and  myself  to  interpose,  and  I  turned 
door-keeper  while  Allen  retreated  to  the  other  side  of  the 
room  with  rather  a  higher  color  than  usual  on  his  lumpish 
face.  All  this  while — not  a  long  while,  at  all — King  had 
remained  in  sullen  silence,  scowling  at  the  proceedings. 
At  tins  juncture,  however,  he  spoke: 

"  'Boys/  said  he,  'this  joke  has  gone  far  enough,  and  if 
you  will  permit  us  to  take  our  leave,  I  will  see  Miss  Bryant 
safe  home.' 

"Involuntarily  she  turned  toward  the  only  one  who 
proffered  help;  but  Darling  and  I  were  too  angry  at  the 
ruse  to  allow  him  to  succeed,  and  stood  our  ground  by  the 
door.  '  You  see,  Teresa,  how  it  is/  continued  King,  glanc 
ing  at  us  defiantly:  'these  fellows  mean  to  keep  you  a  pris 
oner  in  this  house  until  they  make  you  do  and  say  as  they 
please.3 

"  '  What  is  it  you  wish  me  to  do  and  say?"  asked  Teresa, 
with  forced  composure. 

"'We  wish  you  to  state/  said  I,  hoarsely,  '  whether  or 
not  you  are  or  have  been  engaged  to  either  of  us.  We  want 
you  to  say  it  because  we  are  all  candidates  for  your  favor, 
and  because  there  is  a  dispute  among  us  as  to  whose  claim 
is  the  strongest.  It  will  put  an  end  to  our  quarrel,  and  se 
cure  to  you  the  instant  return  of  your  liberty,  if  you  will 
declare  the  truth/ 

"  At  that  she  sank  down  on  a  chair  and  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands.  After  a  little  time  she  gathered  courage 


124  ".V   THE  SANDS. 

and  looked  up  at  Darling  and  me.  I  observed,  even  ihen, 
that  she  took  no  notice  of  the  others.  '  If  I  am  promised 
to  either  of  you,  you  know  it.  But  this  I  say  now:  if  I 
were  a  hundred  times  promised,  I  would  break  that  prom 
ise  after  such  insult  as  you  have  all  offered  me  this  evening-. 
Let  me  go ! ' 

"What  Charlie  Darling  suffered  all  through  the  inter 
view'  had  been  patent  to  each  of  us.  When  she  delivered 
his  sentence  in  tones  so  determined,  a  cry  that  was  a  groan 
escaped  his  colorless  lips.  To  say  that  /  did  not  writhe 
under  her  just  scorn  would  be  false.  Tears,  few,  but  hot 
and  bitter,  blinded  my  e3*es.  She  took  no  further  notice 
of  any  of  us,  but  sat  waiting  for  her  release. 

"  '  You  knew  by  this  time,'  I  said,  '  that  you  had  been 
deceived.' 

"  I  felt  by  this  time  that  I  had  been  a  fool — a  poor,  coarse 
fool;  there  had  been  treachery  somewhere,  and  that  all  to 
gether  we  were  a  villainous  lot.  I  was  only  hesitating 
about  how  to  get  out  of  the  scrape  decently,  when  Darling 
spoke  in  a  voice  that  was  hardly  recognizable : 

"  'Teresa,  we  were  engaged;  I  told  these  others  so  be 
fore;  but  they  would  not  believe  me.  On  the  contrary, 
each  one  claims  to  have  received  such  encouragement  from 
you  as  to  entitle  him  to  be  considered  your  favored  lover. 
Hard  as  it  was  for  me  to  believe  such  falsehood  possible  to 
you,  two  of  these  claimants  insisted  upon  their  rights  against 
mine,  and  they  overruled  my  judgment  and  wishes  to  such 
a  degree  that  I  consented  to  this  trial  for  you.  It  has  re 
sulted  in  nothing  except  shame  to  us  and  annoyance  to 
you!  I  beg  your  pardon.  More  I  will  not  say  to-night.' 

"Then  she  rose  up  and  faced  us  all  again  with  burning 
cheeks  and  flashing  eyes.  '  If  any  other  man  says  I  have 
given  him  a  promise,  or  anything  amounting  to  a  promise, 
he  lies.  To  Tom  Allen  I  have  always  been  friendly,  and 
have  romped  with  him  at  our  little  parties;  but  to-night  he 
grossly  insulted  me,  and  I  will  never  speak  to  him  again. 


CLV    THE  SANDS.  125 

As  to  Harry  King,  I  was  friendly  with  him,  too,  until  about 
a  fortnight  ago  he  presumed  to  kiss  me  rudely,  in  spite  of 
resistance,  since  which  time  I  have  barely  recognized  him. 
If  Mr.  Kittredge  says  I  have  made  him  any  promises,  he  is 
unworthy  of  the  great  respect  I  have  always  had  for  him;' 
and  with  that  last  word  she  broke  down,  and  sobbed  as  if 
her  heart  would  break.  But  it  was  only  for  a  few  minutes 
that  she  cried — she  was  herself  again  before  we  had  recov 
ered  our  composure. 

"  'What  was  it  Tom  Allen  said  to  you?'  asked  Charlie, 
when  her  tears  were  dried. 

"  '  He  said  he  would  have  me,  if  the  rest  did  cast  me  off. 
Thank  you/  with  a  mocking  courtesy  to  Allen.  '  It  is  for 
tunate  for  you — and  for  you  all,  that  I  have  no  "big 
brother."  ' 

"  '  I  beg  you  will  believe  no  "big  brother  "  could  add  to 
my  punishment,'  Charlie  answered;  and  I  felt  included  in 
the  confession.  Then  he  offered  to  see  her  home  without 
more  delay,  but  she  declined  any  escort  whatever,  only  re 
questing  us  to  remain  where  we  were  until  she  had  been 
gone  half  an  hour;  and  rode  off  into  the  moonlight  and 
solitude  unattended,  with  what  feelings  in  her  heart  God 
knows.  We  all  watched  her  until  she  was  hidden  from 
sight  by  the  shadows  of  a  grove  of  pines,  and  I  still  remem 
ber  the  shudder  with  which  I  saw  her  plunge  recklessly  into 
the  gloom — manlike,  careful  about  her  beautiful  body,  and 
not  regarding  her  tender  girl  heart. 

"  That  must  have  been  a  pleasant  half  hour  for  you,"  I 
could  not  help  remarking. 

"Pleasant!  yes;  we  were  like  a  lot  of  devils  chained. 
That  night  dissolved  all  friendships  between  any  two  of  us, 
except  between  Darling  and  me;  and  that  could  never  be 
quite  the  same  again,  for  had  I  not  shown  him  that  I  be 
lieved  myself  a  favored  rival?  though  I  afterwards  pre 
tended  to  impute  my  belief  to  vanity/' 

"How  did  you  account  to  yourself  for  the  delusion  ?  Had 
she  not  flirted,  as  it  is  called,  with  you?'' 


126  ON   THE  SANDS. 

"  She  bad  certainly  caused  me  to  be  deluded,  innocently 
or  otherwise,  into  a  belief  that  she  regarded  me  with  pecul 
iar  favor;  and  I  had  been  accustomed  to  take  certain  little 
liberties  with  her,  which  probably  seemed  of  far  greater 
importance  to  me  than  they  did  to  her;  for  her  passional 
nature  was  hardly  yet  awakened,  and  among  our  primitive 
society  there  was  no  great  restraint  upon  any  innocent 
familiarities." 

"What  became  of  her  after  that  night? — did  she  marry 
Darling?" 

The  answer  did  not  come  at  once.  Thought  and  feeling 
were  with  the  past;  and  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  intrude 
the  present  upon  it,  but  busied  myself  with  the  leaves  and 
vines  and  mosses  that  I  had  snatched  from  the  banks  in 
passing,  while  my  friend  was  absorbed  in  his  silent  reminis 
cences. 

"  You  have  not  heard  the  saddest  part  of  the  story  }Tet/' 
he  said  at  last,  slowly  aud  reluctantly.  "  She  kept  her 
word  with  each  of  us;  ignoring  Allen  and  King  entire!}'; 
and  only  vouchsafing  a  passing  word  to  Charlie  and  me. 
Poor  Charlie  was  broken-hearted.  He  had  never  been 
strong,  and  now  he  was  weak,  ill;  in  short,  fell  into  a 
decline,  and  died  in  the  following  year.3' 

"  Did  the  story  never  get  out?" 

"  Not  the  true  story.  That  scoundrel  King  spread  a 
rumor  abroad  which  caused  much  mischief,  and  was  most 
cruel  after  what  we  had  done  to  outrage  her  feelings  in  the 
first  instance;  but  that  was  his  revenge  for  her  slight — I 
never  knew  whether  she  regretted  Darling  or  not.  She 
was  so  sensitive  and  willfully  proud  that  she  would  have 
died  herself  sooner  than  betray  a  regret  for  any  one  who 
had  offended  her.  Her  mother  died,  and  her  father  took 
her  away  with  him  to  the  Sandwich  Islands.  It  was  said 
he  was  not  kind  to  her,  especially  after  her  '  disgrace/  as 
he  called  it." 

"  She  never  forgave  you?  What  do  you  knowT  about  her 
subsequent  history  ?'' 


ON  THE  SANDS.  127 

"Nothing  of  it.  But  she  had  her  revenge  for  what 
went  before.  After  she  went  to  the  Islands  I  wrote  her  a 
very  full  and  perfect  confession  of  ray  fault,  and  the  exten 
uating  circumstances,  and  offered  her  my  love,  with  the 
assurance  that  it  had  always  been  hers.  What  do  you 
think  she  wrote  me  in  return?  Only  this:  that  once  she 
had  loved  me;  that  she  had  but  just  made  the  discovery 
that  she  loved  me,  and  not  Charlie  Darling,  when  we  mu 
tually  insulted  her  as  we  did,  and  forced  her  to  discard 
both  of  us;  for  which  she  was  not  now  sorry." 

"After  all,  she  was  not  an  angel,"  I  said,  laughing  lightly, 
to  his  embarrassment. 

"  But  to  think  of  using  a  girl  of  sixteen  like  that!  " 

"  You  are  in  a  self-accusing  mood  to-day.  Let  us  talk  of 
our  neighbors.  Bad  as  that  practice  is,  I  believe  it  is  better 
than  talking  about  ourselves: — Mrs.  Sancy  thinks  so,  I 
know?" 

"  Who  is  Mrs.  Sancy  ?  " 

"  I  will  introduce  you  to-morrow." 

Next  to  being  principal  in  a  romantic  affaire  de  coeur  is 
the  excitement  of  being  an  interested  third  part}'.  In  con 
sonance  with  this  belief  I  laid  awake  most  of  the  night  im 
agining  the  possible  and  probable  "  conclusion  of  the  whole 
matter."  I  never  doubted  that  Mrs.  Sane}'  was  Teresa,  nor 
that  she  was  more  fascinating  at  thirty-one  than  she  had 
been  at  sixteen:  but  fifteen  years  work  great  changes  in  the 
intellectual  and  moral  person,  and  much  as  I  desired  to 
play  the  part  of  Fate  in  bringing  these  two  people  together, 
I  was  very  doubtful  about  the  result.  But  I  need  not  have 
troubled  myself  to  assume  the  prerogative  of  Fate,  which 
by  choosing  its  own  instruments  saved  me  all  responsibility 
in  the  matter. 

As  Mr.  Kittredge  messed  with  a  party  of  military  officers, 
and  was  off  on  an  early  excursion  to  unknown  localities,  I 
saw  nothing  of  him  the  following  morning.  We  were  to 
ride  on  the  beach  after  lunch,  returning  on  the  turn  of  the 


128  ON   THE  SANDS. 

tide  to  see  the  bathers.  Therefore  no  opportunity  seemed 
likely  to  present  itself  before  evening  for  the  promised  in 
troduction. 

The  afternoon  proved  fine,  and  we  were  cantering-  gaily 
along  in  the  fresh  breeze  and  sunshine,  when  another  party 
appeared,  advancing  from  the  opposite  direction,  whom  I 
knew  to  be  Mrs.  Saucy,  her  little  daughter  Isabelle,  and  the 
Kanaka  servant.  The  child  and  servant  were  galloping 
hard,  and  passed  us  with  a  rush.  But  the  lady  seemed  in 
a  quieter  mood,  riding  easily  and  carelessly,  with  an  air  of 
pre-occupation.  Suddenly  she  too  gave  her  horse  whip  and 
rein,  and  as  she  dashed  past  I  heard  her  exclaim,  "The 
quicksands!  the  quicksands!" 

Instinctively  we  drew  rein,  turned,  and  followed.  We 
rode  hard  for  a  few  minutes,  without  overtaking  her;  then 
slackened  our  speed  on  seeing  her  come  up  with  the  child, 
and  arrest  the  race  which  had  so  alarmed  her. 

"There  are  no  quicksands  in  this  direction;"  was  the 
first  remark  of  Kittredge  when  we  could  speak. 

"  What  should  make  her  think  so  ?  " 

"There  were  quicksands  there  a  number  of  years  ago, 
and  by  her  manner  she  must  have  known  it  then." 

"And  by  the  same  token,"  I  replied,  "  she  cannot  have 
been  here  since  the  change." 

"Who  is  she?" 

"  My  friend,  Mrs.  Sancy." 

"  Where  is  she  from  ?  " 

"  From  the  quicksands;  "  I  replied  evasively,  as  I  saw  the 
lady  approaching  us. 

"  I  fear  you  have  shared  my  fright,"  she  said,  as  soon  as 
she  came  within  speaking  distance.  "When  I  used  to  be 
familiar  with  these  sands  there  was  a  dangerous  spot  out 
there;  but  I  perceive  time  has  effaced  it,  as  he  does  so  many 
things;"'  smiling,  and  bowing  to  my  escort. 

"  There  are  some  things  time  never  effaces,  even  from  the 
sands,"  returned  Kittredge,  growing  visibly  pale. 


ON  THE  SANDS.  129 

"  That  is  contrary  to  the  poets,"  laughingly  she  rejoined; 
"but  I  believe  the  poets  have  been  superseded  by  the 
scientists,  who  prove  everything  for  you  by  a  fossil." 

I  could  not  help  watching  her  to  learn  how  much  or  how 
little  recognition  there  was  in  her  face.  The  color  came 
and  went,  I  could  perceive;  but  whether  with  doubt  or 
certainty  I  could  not  determine.  I  felt  I  ought  to  intro 
duce  them,  but  shrunk  from  helping  on  the  denouement  in 
that  way.  In  my  embarrassment  1  said  nothing.  AVe  were 
now  approaching  the  vicinity  of  the  bathing-houses,  and 
seeing  the  visitors  collecting  for  the  bath,  an  excuse  was 
furnished  for  quickening  our  paces.  Mrs.  Sancy  bowed 
and  left  us.  Mr.  Kittredge  seemed  to  have  lost  the  power 
of  speech. 

Fifteen  minutes  after  I  was  sitting  on  some  drift-wood, 
watching  the  pranks  of  the  gayest  of  the  crowd  as  they 
"jumped  the  rollers,"  when  Mrs.  Sancy  came  out  of  a 
dressing-room,  followed  by  her  Kanaka  with  a  surf -board. 
Her  bathing-dress  was  very  jaunty  and  becoming,  and  her 
skill  as  a  swimmer  drew  to  her  a  great  deal  of  attention. 
To  swim  out  and  float  in  on  the  rollers  seemed  to  be  to  her 
no  more  of  a  feat  than  it  would  be  to  a  sea-gull,  she  did  it 
so  easily  and  gracefully.  But  to-day  something  went  wrong 
with  her.  Either  she  was  too  warm  from  riding,  or  her 
circulation  was  disturbed  by  the  meeting  with  Kittredge,  or 
both;  at  all  events  the  second  time  she  swam  out  she  failed 
to  return.  The  board  slipped  away  from  her,  and  she  sank 
out  of  sight. 

While  I  gazed  horror-stricken,  scarce  understanding 
what  had  taken  place,  a  man  rushed  past  me  in  his  bathing 
clothes,  running  out  to  where  the  water  was  deep  enough 
to  float  him,  and  striking  out  rapidly  from  there.  I  could 
not  recognize  him  in  that  dress,  but  I  knew  it  was  Kitt 
redge.  Fate  had  sent  him.  The  incoming  tide  kept  her 
where  she  sank,  and  he  soon  brought  her  to  the  surface 
and  through  the  surf  to  the  beach.  I  spread  my  cloak  on 
9 


130  ON  THE  SANDS. 

the  sand,  and,  wrapping  her  in  it,  began  rubbing  and  roll 
ing  her,  with  the  assistance  of  other  ladies,  for  resuscita 
tion  from  drowning. 

In  three  minutes  more  Kittredge  was  kneeling  by  my  side 
with  a  brandy-flask,  administering  its  contents  drop  by 
drop,  and  giving  orders.  "It  is  congestion,"  said  he. 
"  You  must  rub  her  chest,  her  back,  her  hands  and  feet; 
so,  so.  She  will  die  in  your  hands  if  you  are  not  quick. 
For  God's  sake,  work  fast!" 

By  his  presence  of  mind  she  was  saved  as  by  a  miracle. 
When  she  was  removed  to  her  lodgings,  and  able  to  con 
verse,  she  asked  me  who  it  was  that  had  rescued  her. 

"Mr.  Kittredge,"  I  said. 

"The  same  I  met  on  the  beach?" 

"The  same." 

She  smiled  in  a  faint,  half-dreaming  way,  and  turned 
away  her  face.  She  thought  I  did  not  know  her  secret. 

I  arn  not  going  to  let  my  hero  take  advantage  of  the  first 
emotion  of  gratitude  after  a  service,  to  mention  his  wishes 
in,  as  many  story-tellers  do.  I  consider  it  a  mean  advant 
age;  besides  Mr.  Kittredge  did  not  do  it.  In  fact,  he  ab 
sented  himself  for  a  week.  When  he  returned,  I  introduced 
him  formally  to  Mrs.  Sancy,  and  we  three  walked  together 
down  to  the  beach,  and  seated  ourselves  on  a  wThite  old  cot- 
toiiwoocl  that  had  floated  out  of  the  Columbia  river,  and 
been  cast  by  the  high  tides  of  winter  above  the  shelving 
sands. 

We  were  rather  a  silent  party  for  a  few  minutes.  In  his 
abstraction,  Mr.  Kittredge  reached  down  and  traced  a  name 
in  the  sand  with  the  point  of  my  parasol  stick — TEJIESA. 

Then,  seeing  the  letters  staring  'at  him,  he  looked  up  at 
her,  and  said,  "I  could  not  brush  them  out  if  I  would. 
Time  has  failed  to  do  that."  Her  gaze  wandered  away,  out 
to  sea,  up  towards  the  Capes,  down  toward  the  Head;  and  a 
delicate  color  grew  upon  her  cheek.  "It  has  scarcely 
changed  in  fifteen  years,"  she  said.  "I  did  not  count  on 
finding  all  things  the  same." 


ON  THE  SANDS.  131 

With  that  I  made  a  pretense  of  leaving  them,  to  seek 
shells  along  the  beach;  for  I  knew  that  fate  could  no  longer 
be  averted.  When  I  returned  she  was  aware  that  I  pos 
sessed  the  secret  of  both,  and  she  smiled  upon  me  a  recog 
nition  of  m}'  right  to  be  pleased  with  what  I  saw;  what  I 
beheld  seeming  the  prelude  to  a  happy  marriage.  That 
night  I  wrote  in  my  diary,  after  some  comments  on  my  re 
lations  with  Mr.  Kittredge: 

"It  is  best  to  be  off  with  the  old  love, 
Before  you  are  on  with  the  new." 


132  AN  OLD  FOOL. 


AN    OLD    FOOL. 
PART  I. 

annual  rain-fall  on  the  lower  Columbia  Eiver  is 
JL  upward  of  eighty  inches — often  almost  ninety;  and 
the  greater  amount  of  this  fall  is  during  the  winter  months, 
from  November  to  March,  generally  the  least  intermittent 
in  December.  I  mention  this  climatic  fact,  the  better  to  be 
understood  in  attempting  to  describe  a  certain  December 
afternoon  in  the  year  186-. 

It  lacked  but  two  days  of  Christmas,  and  the  sun  had 
not  shone  out  brightly  for  a  single  hour  in  three  weeks.  On 
this  afternoon  the  steady  pour  from  the  clouds  was  a  strong 
reminder  of  the  ancient  deluge.  Between  the  rain  itself 
and  the  mist  which  always  accompanies  the  rain-fall  in 
Oregon,  the  world  seemed  nearly  blotted  out.  Standing  on 
the  wharf  at  Astoria,  the  noble  river  looked  like  a  great 
gray  caldron  of  steaming  water,  evaporating  freely  at  42°. 
The  lofty  highlands  on  the  opposite  shore  had  lost  all 
shape,  or  certain  altitude.  The  stately  forest  of  firs  along 
their  summits  were  shrouded  in  ever-changing  masses  of 
whitish-gray  fog.  Nothing  could  be  seen  of  the  light-house 
on  the  headland  at  the  mouth  of  the  river;  nothing  of 
Tongue  Point,  two  miles  above  Astoria;  and  only  a  dim 
presentment  of  the  town  itself,  and  the  hills  at  the  back  of 
it.  Even  the  old  Astorians,  used  to  this  sort  of  weather 
and  not  disliking  it,  having  little  to  do  in  the  winter  time, 
and  being  always  braced  up  by  sea-airs  that  even  this  fresh 
water  flood  could  not  divest  of  their  tonic  flavor — these  old 
sea-dogs,  pilots,  fishermen,  and  other  amphibia,  were  con 
strained  at  last  to  give  utterance  to  mild  growls  at  the  per 
sistent  character  of  the  storm. 

A  crowd  of  these  India-rubber  clad,  red-cheeked,  and, 


AN  OLD  FOOL.  133 

alas!  too  often  red-nosed  old  men  of  the  sea,  had  taken 
shelter  in  the  Kailroad  Saloon — called  that,  apparently,  be 
cause  there  was  no  railroud  then  within  hundreds  of  miles 
— and  were  engaged  in  alternate  wild  railings  at  the 
weather,  reminiscences  of  other  storms,  and  whisky-drink 
ing;  there  being  an  opinion  current  among  these  men  that 
water-proof  garments  alone  did  not  suffice  to  keep  out  the 
all-prevailing  wet. 

"  If  'twant  that  we're  so  near  the  sea,  with  a  good  wide 
sewage  of  river  to  carry  off  the  water,  we  should  all  be 
drownded;  thet's  my  view  on'fc,"  said  Runaway,  a  bar  pilot, 
whose  dripping  hat-rim  and  general  shiny  appearance  gave 
point  to  his  remark. 

"  You  can't  count  on  the  sea  to  befriend  you  this  time, 
Captain.  Better  git  yer  ark  alongside  the  wharf;  fur  we're 
goin'  to  hev  the  Columbia  runnin'  up  stream  to-night,  sure 
as  you're  born." 

"  Hullo  !  Is  that  you,  Joe  Chillis  ?  What  brought  you  to 
town  in  this  kind  o'  weather  ?  And  what  do  you  know  about 
the  tides? — that's  my  business,  I  calculate." 

"  Mebbe  it  is;  and  mebbe  a  bar  pilot  knows  more  about 
the  tides  nor  a  mountain  man.  But  there'll  be  a  rousin' 
old  tide  to-night,  and  a  sou'wester,  to  boot;  you  bet  yer 
life  on  that  !" 

"  I'll  grant  you  thet  a  mountain  man  knows  a  heap  thet 
other  men  don't.  But  I'll  never  agree  thet  he  can  tell  me 
anything  about  my  business.  Take  a  drink,  Joe,  and  then 
let's  hear  some  o'  your  mountain  yarns." 

"Thankee;  don't  keer  ef  I  do.  I  can't  stop  to  spin 
yarns,  tho',  this  eveniii'.  I've  got  to  git  home.  It  won't 
be  easy  work  pullin'  agin  the  tide  an  hour  or  two  from 
now." 

"What's  your  hurry?"  "A  story— a  story!"  "Let's 
make  a  night  of  it."  "  O,  come,  Joe,  you  are  not  wanted 
at  home.  Cabin  won't  run  away;  wife  won't  scold." 
'*  Stop  along  ov  us  till  mornin';"  were  the  various  rather 


134  AN  OLD  FOOL. 

noisy  and  ejaculatory  remarks  upon  Chillis's  avowed  inten 
tion  of  abandoning  good  and  appreciative  company,  with- 
out  stopping  to  tell  one  of  his  ever-ready  tales  of  Indian 
and  bear  fighting  in  the  Rocky  Mountains  thirty  years 
before. 

"Why,  you  ain't  goin'  out  again  till  you've  shaken  off 
the  water,  Joe.  You're  dripping  like  a  Newfoundland;" 
said  Captain  Runaway,  as  Chillis  put  down  his  empty  glass, 
and  turned  toward  the  door,  which  he  had  entered  not  five 
minutes  before.  This  thoughtfulness  for  his  comfort,  how 
ever,  only  meant,  "  Stay  till  you've  taken  another  drink, 
and  then  maybe  you  will  tell  us  a  story;"  and  Chillis  knew 
the  bait  well  enough  to  decline  it. 

"  Thankee,  Captain.  One  bucketful  more  or  less  won't 
make  no  difference.  I'm  wet  to  the  skin  now.  Thank  ye 
all,  gentlemen;  I've  got  business  to  attend  to  this  everiin'. 
Have  any  of  you  seen  Eb  Smiley  this  arternoon  ?" — looking 
back,  with  his  hand  on  the  door-knob.  "  I'd  like  to  speak 
to  him  afore  I  leave,  ef  you  can  "tell  me  whar  to  find  him." 

"You'll  find  him  in  there,"  answered  the  bar-tender, 
crooking  his  thumb  toward  a  room  leading  out  of  the 
saloon,  containing  a  tumbled  single-bed  and  a  wooden 
settee,  besides  various  masculine  bijouterie  in  the  shape  of 
boots,  old  and  new,  clean  and  dirty;  candle  and  cigar  ends; 
dusty  bits  of  paper  on  a  stand,  the  chief  ornament  of 
which  was  a  black-looking  derringer;  coats,  vests,  fishing- 
tackle;  and  cheap  prints,  adorning  the  walls  in  the  wildest 
disregard  of  effect — except,  indeed,  the  effect  aimed  at 
were  chaos. 

Into  this  apartment  Chillis  unceremoniously  thrust  him 
self  through  the  half-open  door,  frowning  as  darkly  as  his 
fine  and  pleasant  features  would  admit  of,  and  muttering  to 
himself,  "  Damme,  I  thought  as  much." 

On  the  wooden  settee  reclined  a  man  thirty  years  his 
junior — Chillis  was  over  sixty,  though  he  did  not  look  it — 
sleeping  the  heavy,  stupid  sleep  of  intoxication.  The  old 


AN  OLD  FOOL.  135 

hunter  did  not  stand  upon  ceremony,  nor  hesitate  to  invade 
the  sleeper's  privacy,  but  marched  up  to  the  settee,  his  rag 
ged  old  blanket-coat  dripping  tiny  streams  from  every  sep 
arate  tatter,  and  proceeded  at  once  roughly  to  arouse  the 
drunken  man  by  a  prolonged  and  vigorous  shaking. 

"  AVha'er  want?  Lemme  'lone,"  grumbled  Smiley,  only 
dimly  conscious  of  what  was  being  said  or  done  to  him. 

"Get  up,  I  say.  Get  up,  you  fool!  and  come  along 
home.  Your  wife  is  needin7  ye.  Go  home  and  take  care 
of  her  and  the  boy.  Come  along — d'ye  hear?" 

But  the  sleeper's  brain  was  impervious  to  sound  or  sense. 
He  only  muttered,  in  a  drowsy  whisper,  "  Lemme  'lone,"  a 
few  times,  and  went  off  into  a  deeper  stupor  than  before. 

"  You  miserable  cuss,"  snarled  Chillis,  in  his  wrath,  "  be 
d — d  to  you,  then!  Drink  yerself  to  death,  ef  you  Avant  to 
—the  sooner  the  better;"  and,  with  this  parting  adjuration, 
and  an  extra  shake,  the  old  mountain  man,  who  had  drank 
barrels  of  alcohol  himself  with  comparative  immunity  from 
harm,  turned  his  back  upon  this  younger  degenerate  victim 
of  modern  whisky,  and  strode  out  of  the  room  and  the 
house,  without  stopping  to  reply  to  the  renewed  entreaties 
of  his  friends  to  remain  and  "  make  a  night  of  it." 

Making  directly  for  the  wharf,  where  his  boat  was  moored, 
half  filled  with  water,  he  hastily  bailed  it  out,  pushed  off, 
and,  dropping  the  oars  into  the  row-locks,  bent  to  the  work 
before  him;  for  the  tide  was  already  beginning  to  run  up, 
and  the  course  he  had  to  take  brought  him  dead  against  it 
for  the  first  two  or  three  miles,  after  which  the  tide  would 
be  with  him,  and,  if  there  should  not  be  too  much  sea,  the 
labor  of  impelling  the  boat  would  be  materially  lessened. 

The  lookout  from  a  small  boat  was  an  ugly  one  at  three 
o'clock  of  this  rainy  December  afternoon.  A  dense,  cold 
fog  had  been  rolling  in  from  the  sea  for  the  last  half  hour, 
and  the  wind  was  rising  with  the  tide.  Under  the  shelter 
of  the  hills  at  the  foot  of  which  Astoria  nestled,  the  wind  did 
not  make  itself  felt;  but  once  past  "  The  Point,"  and  in  the 


136  AN  OLD  FOOL. 

exposed  waters  of  Young's  Bay,  the  south-westers  had  a 
fair  sweep  of  the  great  river,  of  which  the  bay  is  only  an 
inlet.  One  of  these  dreaded  storms  was  preparing  to  make 
itself  felt,  as  Chillis  had  predicted,  and  as  he  now  saw  by 
the  way  in  which  the  mist  was  being  blown  off  the  face  of 
the  river,  and  the  (<  white-caps7'  came  instead.  Before  he 
arrived  off  the  Point  he  laid  down  his  oars,  and,  taking  out 
of  his  coat-pocket  a  saturated  yellow  cotton  handkerchief, 
proceeded  to  tie  his  old  soft  felt  hat  down  over  his  ears, 
and  otherwise  make  ready  for  a  struggle  with  wind  and 
Avater — neither  of  them  adversaries  to  be  trifled  with,  as  he 
knew. 

Not  a  minute  too  soon,  either;  for,  just  when  he  had  re 
sumed  the  oars,  the  boat,  having  drifted  out  of  her  course, 
was  caught  by  a  wave  and  a  blast  on  its  broadside,  and 
nearly  upset. 

"  Steady,  little  gal,"  said  Chillis,  bringing  his  boat  round, 
head  to  the  Wind.  "None  o' your  capers  now.  Thar  is 
serious  work  on  hand,  an'  I  want  you  to  behave  better' n 
ever  you  did  afore.  It's  you  an'  me,  an'  the  White  Kose, 
this  time,  sure,"  and  he  pressed  his  lips  together  grimly, 
and  peered  out  from  under  his  bent  old  hat  at  the  storm 
which  was  driving  furiously  against  his  broad  breast,  and 
into  his  white,  anxious  face,  almost  blinding  and  strangling 
him.  His  boat  was  a  small  one — too  small  for  the  seas  of 
the  lower  Columbia — but  it  was  trim  and  light,  and  steered 
easily.  Besides,  the  old  mountaineer  was  a  skilled  oars 
man,  albeit  this  accomplishment  was  not  a  part  of  the  edu 
cation  of  American  hunters  and  trappers,  as  it  was  of  the 
French  royageurx.  Keeping  his  little  craft  head  to  the 
wind,  he  took  each  wave  squarely  on  the  prow,  and  with  a 
powerful  stroke  of  the  oars  cut  through  it,  or  sprang  over 
it,  and  then  made  ready  for  the  next.  Meanwhile,  the 
storm  increased,  the  rain  driving. at  an  angle  of  45°,  and  in 
sheets  that  napped  smotheringly  about  him  like  wet  blan 
kets,  and  threatened  to  swamp  his  boat  without  assistance 


AN  OLD  FOOL.  137 

from  the  waves.  It  was  growing  colder,  too,  and  Lis  sod 
den  garments  were  of  little  service  to  protect  him  from  the 
chill  that  comes  with  a  south-wester;  nor  was  the  grip  of 
the  naked  hands  upon  the  oars  stimulating  to  the  circula 
tion  of  his  old  blood  through  the  swollen  fingers. 

But  old  Joe  Chillis  had  a  distinct  comprehension  of  the 
situation,  and  felt  himself  to  be  master  of  it.  He  had  gone 
over  to  Astoria  that  day,  not  to  drink  whisky  and  tell 
stories,  but  to  do  a  good  turn  for  the  "  White  Eose."  Fail 
ing  in  his  purpose,  he  was  going  back  again,  at  any  cost,  to 
make  up  for  the  miscarriage  of  that  effort.  Death  itself 
could  not  frighten  him;  for  what  was  the  Columbia  in  a 
storm  to  the  dangers  he  had  passed  through  in  years  of 
hunting  and  trapping  in  the  Rocky  Mountains  ?  He  had 
seemed  to  bear  a  charmed  life  then;  he  would  believe  that 
the  charm  had  not  deserted  him. 

But,  O,  how  his  old  arms  ached!  and  the  storm  freshen 
ing  every  minute,  with  two  miles  further  to  row,  in  the 
teeth  of  it.  The  tide  was  with  him  now;  but  the  wind  was 
against  the  tide,  and  made  an  ugly  sea.  If  he  only  could 
reach  the  mouth  of  the  creek  before  dark.  If  he  could? 
Why,  he  must.  The  tide  would  be  up  so  that  he  could  not 
find  the  entrance  in  the  dark.  He  worked  resolutely — 
worked  harder  than  ever — but  he  did  not  accomplish  so 
much,  because  his  strength  was  giving  out.  "When  he  first 
became  aware  of  this,  he  heaved  a  great  sigh,  as  if  his  heart 
were  broken,  then  pressed  his  lips  together  as  before,  and 
peered  through  the  thick  gray  twilight,  looking  for  the 
creek's  mouth  while  yet  there  was  a  little  light. 

He  was  now  in  the  very  worst  part  of  the  bay,  where  the 
current  from  Young's  River  was  strongest,  setting  out  to 
ward  the  Columbia,  and  where  the  wind  had  the  fairest 
sweep,  blowing  from  the  coast  across  the  low  Clatsop 
plains.  Only  the  tide  and  his  failing  strength  were  op 
posed  to  these;  would  they  enable  him  to  hold  his  own? 
He  set  his  teeth  harder  than  ever,  but  it  was  all  in  vain, 


138  AN  OLD  FOOL. 

and  directly  the  catastrophe  came.  His  strength  wavered, 
the  boat  veered  round,  a  sudden  gust  and  roll  of  water 
took  it  broadside,  and  over  she  went,  keel  up,  more  than  a 
mile  from  land. 

But  this  was  not  the  last  of  Joe  Chillis — not  by  any  man 
ner  of  means.  He  had  trapped  beaver  too  many  years  to 
mind  a  ducking  more  or  less,  if  he  only  had  his  strength. 
So,  when  he  came  up,  he  clutched  an  oar  that  was  floating 
past  him,  and  looked  about  for  the  boat.  She  was  not  far 
off — the  tide  was  holding  her,  bobbing  up  and  down  like  a 
cork.  In  a  few  minutes  she  was  righted,  and  Chillis  had 
scrambled  in,  losing  his  oar  while  doing  it,  and  regaining 
it  while  being  nearly  upset  again. 

It  had  become  a  matter  of  life  and  death  now  to  keep 
afloat,  with  only  one  oar  to  fight  the  sea  with;  and,  though 
hoping  little  from  the  expedient,  in  such  a  gale — blowing 
the  wrong  way,  besides — Chillis  shouted  foi  assistance  in 
every  lull  of  the  tempest.  To  his  own  intense  astonish 
ment,  as  well  as  relief,  his  hail  was  answered. 

"  "Where  away?"  came  on  the  wind,  the  sound  seeming 
to  flap  and  flutter  like  a  shred  of  torn  sail. 

"Off  the  creek,  about  a  mile?"  shouted  Chillis,  with 
those  powerful  lungs  of  his,  that  had  gotten  much  of  their 
bellows-like  proportions  during  a  dozen  }Tears  of  breathing 
the  thin  air  of  the  mountains. 

"  All  right!  "  was  returned  on  the  snapping,  fluttering 
gale.  After  this  answer,  Chillis  contented  himself  with 
keeping  his  boat  right  side  up,  and  giving  an  occasional 
prolonged  "Oh-whoo!  "  to  guide  his  rescuers  through  the 
thickening  gloom.  How  long  it  seemed,  with  the  growing 
darkness,  and  the  effort  to  avoid  another  upset!  But  the 
promised  help  came  at  last,  in  the  shape  of  the  mail-car 
rier's  plunger,  her  trim  little  mast  catching  his  eyes,  shin 
ing  white  and  bare  out  of  the  dusk.  Directly  he  heard  the 
voices  of  the  mail-carrier  and  another. 

"Where  be  ye?     JF/wbeye?" 


AN  OLD  FOOL.  139 

"  Right  here,  under  yer  bow.  Joe  Chillis,  you  bet  your 
life!" 

"Waal,  come  aboard  here,  mighty  quick.  Make  fast. 
Mind  your  boat;  don't  let  her  strike  us.  Pole  off — pole  off, 
with  yer  oar! " 

"Mind  your  oars,"  returned  Chillis;  "  I'll  mind  mine  " — 
every  word  spoken  with  a  yell. 

"What  was  the  row,  out  there?"  asks  the  mail- carrier, 
making  a  trumpet  of  his  hand. 

"  Boat  flopped  over;  lost  an  oar,"  answered  Chillis,  keep 
ing  his  little  craft  from  flying  on  board  by  main  force. 

"  Guess  I  won't  go  over  to-night,"  says  the  carrier. 
"  'Taint  safe  for  the  mail" — The  wind  snatching  the  word 
"  mail  "  out  of  his  mouth,  and  scattering  it  over  the  water 
as  if  it  had  been  a  broken  bundle  of  letters.  "I'll  go  back 
to  Skippanon" — the  letters  flying  every  way  again. 

"  Couldn't  get  over  noways,  now,"  shouts  back  Chillis, 
glad  in  his  heart  that  he  could  not,  and  that  the  chance,  or 
mischance,  favored  his  previous  designs.  Then  he  said  no 
more,  but  watched  his  boat,  warding  it  off  carefully  until 
they  reached  the  mouth  of  the  creek  and  got  inside,  with 
nothing  worse  to  contend  against  than  the  insolent  wind 
and  rain. 

"  This  is  a  purty  stiff  tide,  for  this  time  o'  day.  It  won't 
take  long  to  pull  up  to  Skippanon,  with  all  this  water 
pushiii'  us  along.  Goiu'  home  to-night,  Joe?" 

'  Yes,  I'm  goin'  home,  ef  I  can  borrer  an  oar,"  said 
Chillis.  "My  hous,e  ain't  altogether  safe  without  me,  in 
sech  weather  as  this." 

"  Safer  '11  most  houses,  ef  she  don't  break  away  from  her 
moorin's,"  returned  the  mail-carrier,  laughing.  "Ef  I  can 
git  somebody  to  take  my  place  for  a  week,  I'm  comiu'  up  to 
spend  it  with  you,  an'  do  some  shootin'.  Nothin'  like  such 
an  establishment  as  yours  to  go  huntin'  in — house  an'  boat 
all  in  one — go  where  you  please,  an'  stay  as  long  as  you 
please." 


140  AN  OLD  FOOL. 

(t  Find  me  an  oar  to  git  Lome  with,  an'  3*011  can  come  an' 
stay  as  long-  as  the  grub  holds  out." 

"Waal,  I  can  do  that,  I  guess,  when  we  git  to  the  landin'. 
I  keep  an  extra  pair  or  two  for  emergencies.  But  it's  gittin* 
awful  black,  Chillis,  an'  I  don't  envy  you  the  trip  up  the 
creek.  It's  crooked  as  a  string  o'  S's.  an'  full  o'  shoals,  to 
boot." 

"It  won't  be  shoal  to-night,"  remarked  Chillis,  and  re 
lapsed  into  silence. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  boat's  bow  touched  the  bank.  ' '  Mind 
the  tiller!"  called  out  both  oarsmen,  savagely.  But  as  no 
one  minded  it,  and  it  was  too  dark  to  see  what  was  the  mat 
ter,  the  mail-carrier  dropped  his  oar,  and  stepped  back  to 
the  stern  to  feel  what  it  was. 

"He's  fast  asleep,  or  drunk,  or  dead,  I  don't  know 
which,"  he  called  to  the  other  oarsman,  as  he  got  hold  of 
the  steering  gear,  and  headed  the  boat  up-stream  again. 
His  companion  made  no  reply,  and  the  party  proceeded  in 
silence  to  the  landing.  Here,  by  dint  of  much  shouting 
and  hallooing,  the  inmates  of  a  house  close  by  became  in 
formed  of  something  unusual  outside,  and,  after  a  suitable 
delay,  a  man  appeared,  carrying  a  lantern. 

"It's  you,  is  it?"  he  said  to  the  mail-carrier.  "I  reck 
oned  you  wouldn't  cross  to-night.  Who  ye  got  in  there?" 

"It's  Joe  Chillis.  "We  picked  him  up  outside,  about  a 
mile  off  the  land.  His  boat  had  been  upset,  an'  he'd  lost 
an  oar;  an'  ef  we  hadn't  gone  to  his  assistance  it  would 
have  been  the  last  of  old  Joe,  I  guess." 

"Hullo,  Joe!  Why  don't  you  git  up?"  asked  the  man, 
seeing  that  Chillis  did  not  rise,  or  change  his  position. 

"By  George!  I  don't  know  what's  the  matter  with  him. 
Give  me  the  lantern;"  and  the  mail-carrier  took  the  light 
and  flashed  it  over  Chillis's  face. 

"I  don't  know  whether  he's  asleep,  or  has  fainted,  or  what. 
He's  awful  white,  an'  there's  an  ugly  cut  in  his  shoulder, 
an'  his  coat  all  torn  away.  Must  have  hurt  himself  tryin; 


AN  OLD  FOOL.  141 

to  right  his  boat,  I  guess.  George!  the  iron  on  the  row 
lock  must  have  struck  right  into  the  flesh/' 

"He  didn't  say  he  was  hurt,"  rejoined  the  other  oars 
man. 

"  It's  like  enough  he  didn't  know  it,"  said  the  man  with 
the  lantern.  "When  a  man's  in  danger  he  doesn't  feel  a 
hurt.  Poor  old  Joe!  he  wasn't  drunk,  or  he  couldn't  have 
handled  his  boat  at  all  in  this  weather.  We  must  take 
him  in,  I  s'pose." 

Then  the  three  men  lifted  him  upon  his  feet,  and,  by 
shaking  and  talking,  aroused  him  sufficiently  to  walk  with 
their  support  to  the  house.  There  they  laid  him  on  a 
bench,  and  brought  him  a  glass  of  hot  whisky  and  water; 
and  the  women  of  the  house  gathered  about  shyly,  gazing 
compassionately  upon  the  ugly  wound  in  the  old  man's  de 
licate  white  flesh,  white  and  delicate  as  the  fairest  woman's. 

Presently,  Chillis  sat  up  and  looked  about  him.  "Have 
you  got  me  the  oars'?"  he  said  to  the  mail-carrier. 

"You  wron't  row  any  more  to-night,  Joe,  /  guess,"  the 
carrier  answered,  smiling  grimly.  "Look  at  your  shoul 
der,  man." 

"Shoulder  be  d — d!"  retorted  Chillis.  "Beg  pardon, 
ladies;  I  didn't  see  you.  Been  asleep,  haven't  I?  Per 
haps,  sence  you  seem  to  think  I'm  not  fit  for  rowin',  one  of 
these  ladies  will  do  me  the  favor  to  help  me  put  myself  in 
order.  Have  you  a  piece  of  court-plaster,  or  a  healing- 
salve,  ma'am?" — to  the  elder  woman.  "Ladies  mostly 
keep  sech  trifles  about  them,  I  believe." 

Then  he  straightened  himself  up  to  his  magnificent  height, 
and  threw  out  his  broad,  round  chest,  as  if  the  gash  in  his 
shoulder  were  an  epaulet  or  a  band  of  stars  instead. 

"  Of  course,!  can  do  something  for  you,"  said  the  woman 
he  had  addressed,  very  cheerfully  and  quickly.  "I  have 
the  best  healing  salve  in  all  the  country;"  and,  running 
away,  she  quickly  returned  with  a  roll  of  linen,  and  the  in 
valuable  salve. 


142  AN  OLD  FOOL. 

"I  must  look  at  the  wound,  and  see  if  it  wants  washing 
out.  Ugh!  O,  dear!  it  is  a  dreadful  cut,  and  ragged.  You 
will  have  to  go  to  the  doctor  with  that,  I'm  afraid.  But 
I'll  just  pirt  this  on  to-night,  to  prevent  your  taking  cold 
in  it;  though  you  will  take  cold,  anyway,  if  you  do  not  get 
a  change  of  clothes;"  and  the  good  woman  looked  round 
at  her  husband,  asking  him  with  her  eyes  to  offer  this  very 
necessary  kindness. 

"You'll  stop  with  us  to-night,  Joe,"  said  the  man,  in 
answer  to  this  appeal,  "  an'  the  sooner  you  git  off  them  wet 
clothes  the  better.  I'll  lend  you  some  o'  mine." 

"Yes,  indeed,  Mr.  Chillis,  you  must  get  out  of  these  wet 
things,  and  put  on  some  of  Ben's.  Then  you  will  let  me 
get  you  a  bit  of  hot  supper,  and  go  right  to  bed.  Yrou 
don't  look  as  if  you  could  sit  up.  There  !"  she  added,  as 
the  salve  was  pressed  gently  down  over  the  torn  flesh,  and 
heaving  a  deep  sigh,  "  if  you  feel  half  as  sick  as  I  do,  just 
looking  at  it,  you  will  do  well  to  get  ready  to  lie  down." 

"Thankee,  ma'am.  It's  worth  a  man's  while  to  git  hurt 
a  leetle.  ef  he  has  a  lady  to  take  care  o'  him,"  answered 
Chillis,  gallantly.  "  Bat  I  can't  accept  your  kindness  any 
furcler  to-night.  Ef  I  can  git  the  loan  of  a  lantern  an'  a 
pair  o'  oars,  it  is  all  I  ask,  for  home  I  must  go,  as  soon  as 
possible." 

"Ben  will  lend  you  a  lantern,"  said  the  mail-carrier,  "  an' 
I  will  lend  you  the  oars,  as  I  promised;  but  what  on  earth 
you  want  to  go  any  farther  in  this  storm  for,  beats  me." 

"This  storm  has  only  jist  begun,  and  its  goin'  to  last 
three  days,"  returned  Chillis.  "No  use  waitin'  for  it  to 
quit;  so,  good-night  to  you  all.  I've  made  a  pretty  mess  o' 
your  floor,"  he  added,  turning  to  glance  at  the  little  black 
puddles  that  had  drained  out  of  his  great  spongy  blanket 
coat,  and  run  down  through  his  leaky  boots  on  to  the  white- 
scoured  boards  of  the  kitchen;  then,  glancing  from  them 
to  the  mistress  of  the  house — "I  hope  you'll  excuse  me." 
And  with  that  he  opened  the  door  quickly,  and  shut  him- 


AN  OLD  FOOL.  143 

self  out  into  the  tempest  once  more,  making  his  way  by  the 
lantern's  aid  to  the  boat-house  at  the  landing,  where  he 
helped  himself  to  what  he  needed,  and  was  soon  pulling  up 
the  creek.  Luckily  there  was  no  current  against  him,  for 
it  was  sickening  work  making  the  oar-stroke  with  that  hurt 
in  his  shoulder. 

He  could  see  by  the  light  of  the  lantern,  which  he  occa 
sionally  held  aloft,  that  the  long  grass  of  the  tide-marsh 
was  already  completely  submerged,  the  immense  flats  look 
ing  like  a  sea,  with  the  wind  driving  the  water  before  it  in 
long  rolls,  or  catching  it  up  and  flirting  it  through  the  ail- 
in  spray  and  foam.  His  only  guide  to  his  course  was  the 
scattering  line  of  low  willows  whose  tops  still  bent  and 
shook  above  the  flood,  indicating  the  slightly  raised  banks 
of  the  creek,  everything  more  distant  being  hidden  in  the 
profound  darkness  which  brooded  over  and  seemed  a  part 
of  the  storm.  But  even  with  these  landmarks  he  wandered 
a  good  deal  in  his  reckoning,  and  an  hour  or  more  had 
elapsed  before  his  watchful  eyes  caught  the  gleam  of  what 
might  have  been  a  star  reflected  in  the  ocean. 

"  Thank  God!"  he  whispered,  and  pulled  a  little  faster 
toward  that  spark  of  light. 

In  ten  minutes  more,  he  moored  his  boat  to  the  hitehing- 
post  in  front  of  a  tiny  cottage,  from  whose  uncurtained  win 
dow  the  light  of  a  brisk  wood-fire  was  shining.  As  the 
chain  clanked  in  the  ring,  the  door  opened,  and  a  woman 
and  child  looked  out. 

"Is  that  you,  Eben?"  asked  the  woman,  in  an  eager 
voice,  made  husky  by  previous  weeping.  "I  certainly 
feared  you  were  drowned."  Then  seeing,  as  her  eyes  be 
came  accustomed  to  the  darkness,  that  the  figure  still  lin 
gering  about  the  boat  was  not  her  husband's  she  shrank 
back,  fearing  the  worst. 

•''I'm  sorry  I'm  not  the  one  you  looked  for,  Mrs.  Smi 
ley,"  answered  Chillis,  standing  on  the  bit  of  portico,  with 
its  dripping  honeysuckle  vines  swinging  in  the  wind;  "  but 


144  AN  OLD  FOOL. 

I'm  better  than  nobody,  I  reckon,  an'  Smiley  will  hardly 
be  home  to-night.  The  bay's  awful  rough,  an'  ef  I  hadn't 
started  over  early,  I  shouldn't  have  ventured,  neither.  Xo, 
you  needn't  look  for  your  husband  to-night,  ma'am." 

"Will  you  not  come  in  by  the  fire,  Mr.  Chillis?"  asked 
the  woman,  hesitatingly,  seeing  that  he  seemed  waiting  to 
be  invited. 

"  Thankee.  But  I  shall  spile  your  floor,  ef  I  do.  I'm  a 
perfect  sponge,  not  fit  to  come  near  a  lady,  nohow.  I 
thought,"  he  added,  as  he  closed  the  door  and  advanced  to 
the  hearth,  "  that  I  would  jest  stop  an'  see  ef  I  could  do 
anything  for  you,  seem'  as  I  guessed  you'd  be  alone,  and 
mebbe  afeard  o'  the  storm  an'  the  high  tide.  Ladies 
mostly  is  afeard  to  be  alone  at  sech  times  " — untying  the 
yellow  cotton  handkerchief  and  throwing  his  sodden  hat 
upon  the  stone  hearth. 

"Do  you  think  there  is  any  danger?  "  asked  Mrs.  Smi 
ley,  embarrassed,  yet  anxious.  She  stood  in  the  middle  of 
the  room,  behind  him,  with  that  irresolute  air  an  inexper 
ienced  person  has  in  unexpected  circumstances. 

He  turned  around  with  his  back  to  the  blaze,  wrhile  a 
faint  mist  of  evaporation  began  to  creep  out  all  over  him, 
and  occasionally  to  dart  out  in  slender  streams  and  float  up 
the  wide  chimney. 

"There's  no  danger  now,  an'  mebbe  there  won't  be  any. 
But  the  tide  will  not  turn  much  afore  midnight,  an'  it's 
higher  now  than  it  generally  is  when  it  is  full." 

"  What's  that?  "  cried  Willie,  the  boy,  his  senses  sharp 
ened  by  the  mention  of  danger. 

"  It's  the  wind  rattlin'  my  boat-chains,"  returned  Chillis, 
smiling  at  the  little  fellow's  startled  looks. 

"  Your  boat-chain!  "  echoed  his  mother,  not  less  startled. 
"  Was  it  your  boat  that  you  were  fastening  to  the  hitching- 
post?  I  thought  it  was  your  horse.  Is  the  water  up  so  high, 
then,  already?  " — her  cheeks  paling  as  she  spoke. 

"I  dragged  it  up  a  little  way,"  returned  Chillis,  slowly, 


AN  OLD  FOOL.  145 

and  turning  his  face  back  to  the  fire.  He  was  listening  at 
tentively,  and  thought  he  caught  the  sound  of  lapping 
water. 

"  Have  you  just  come  from  Astoria?  "  asked  Mrs.  Smiley, 
approaching,  and  standing  at  one  corner  of  the  hearth. 
The  fire-light  shone  full  upon  her  now,  and  revealed  a  clear 
white  face;  large,  dark-gray  eyes,  full  of  sadness  and  per 
plexity;  a  beautifully  shaped  head,  coiled  round  and  round 
with  heavy  twists  of  golden  hair,  that  glittered  in  its  high 
lights  like  burnished  metal;  and  a  figure  at  once  full  and  lithe 
in  its  proportions,  clad  in  a  neat-fitting  dress  of  some  soft, 
dark  material,  set  off  with  a  tiny  white  collar  and  bright 
ribbon.  It  was  easy  to  see  why  she  was  the  "  White  Kose" 
to  the  rough  old  mountain  man.  She  was  looking  up  at 
him  with  an  eager,  questioning  gaze,  that  meant,  O,  ever 
so  much  more  than  her  words. 

"  Not  quite  direct.  I  stopped  down  at  the  landin',  an'  I 
lost  a  little  time  gittin'  capsized  in  the  bay.  I  left  about 
three  o'clock." 

"  Might  not  Eben  have  left  a  little  later,"  the  gray  eyes 
added,  "  and  have  been  capsized,  too  ?  " 

"  He  wouldn't  try  to  cross  half  an  hour  later — I'll  wager 
my  head  on  that.  He  can't  get  away  from  town  to-night; 
an',  what  is  worse,  I  don't  think  he  can  cross  for  two  or 
three  days.  We've  got  our  Christmas  storm  on  hand,  an' 
a  worse  one  than  we've  had  for  twenty  years,  or  I'm  mis 
taken." 

"  If  you  thought  the  storm  was  going  to  be  severe,  why 
did  you  not  warn  Eben,  Mr.  Chillis?"  The  gray  eyes 
watched  him  steadily. 

"I  did  say,  there  would  be  a  sou'-wester  uncommon 
severe;  but  Bumway  laughed  at  me  for  prophesyin'  in  his 
company.  Besides,  I  was  in  a  hurry  to  get  off,  myself, 
and  wouldn't  argue  with  'em.  Smiley's  a  man  to  take  his 
own  way  pretty  much,  too." 

"  I  wish  you  had  warned  him,"  sighed  Mrs.  Smiley   and 
10 


146  AN  OLD   FOOL. 

turned  wearily  away.  She  left  her  guest  gazing  into  the  fire 
and  still  steaming  in  a  very  unsavory  manner,  lighted  a 
candle,  set  it  in  the  window,  and  opened  the  door  to  look 
out.  What  she  saw  made  her  start  back  with  a  cry  of  af 
fright,  and  hurriedly  close  the  door. 

"Your  boat  is  this  side  of  the  hitching-post,  and  the 
water  is  all  around  us!  " 

"An3  it  is  not  yet  eight  o'clock.  I  guessed  it  would  be 
so." 

Just  then,  a  fearful  blast  shook  the  house,  and  the  boat's 
chain  clanked  nearer.  Willie  caught  his  mother's  hand, 
and  shivered  all  over  with  terror.  "  O,  mamma!"  he 
sobbed,"  will  the  water  drown  our  house-?" 

"I  hope  not,  my  boy.  It  may  come  up  and  wet  our 
warm,  dry  floor;  but  I  trust  it  will  not  give  us  so  much 
trouble.  We  do  not  like  wet  feet,  do  we,  Willie?  " 

Then  the  mother,  intent  on  soothing  the  child,  sat  down 
in  the  fire-light  and  held  his  curly  head  in  her  lap,  whisper 
ing  little  cooing  sentences  into  his  ear  whenever  he  grew 
restless;  while  her  strange,  unbidden  guest  continued  to 
evaporate  in  one  corner  of  the  hearth,  sitting  with  his  hands 
on  his  knees,  staring  at  something  in  the  coals.  There  was 
no  attempt  at  conversation.  There  had  never,  until  this  even 
ing,  been  a  dozen  words  exchanged  between  these  neigh 
bors,  who  knew  each  other  by  sight  and  by  reputation  well 
enough.  Joe  Chillis  was  not  a  man  whose  personal  ap 
pearance — so  far  as  clothes  went — nor  whose  reputation, 
would  commend  him  to  women  generally — the  one  being- 
shabby  and  careless,  the  other  smacking  of  recklessness  and 
whisky.  Not  that  any  great  harm  was  known  of  the  man; 
but  that  he  was  out  of  the  pale  of  polite  society  even  in  this 
new  and  isolated  corner  of  the  earth.  He  had  had  an  In 
dian  wife  in  his  youth;  being  more  accustomed  to  the  ways 
of  her  people  than  of  his  own.  For  nearly  twenty  years  he 
had  lived  a  thriftless,  bachelor  existence,  known  among  men, 
and  by  hearsay  among  women,  as  a  noted  story-teller,  and 


AN  OLD  FOOL.  147 

genial,  devil-may-care,  old  mountain  man,  whose  heart  was 
in  the  right  place,  but  who  never  drew  very  heavily  upon 
his  brain  resources,  except  to  embellish  a  tale  of  his  early 
exploits  in  Indian-fighting,  bear-killing  and  beaver-trapping. 
It  was  with  a  curious  feeling  of  wonder  that  Mrs.  Smiley 
found  herself  tete-a-tete  with  him  at  her  own  fireside;  and, 
in  spite  of  her  anxiety  about  other  matters,  she  could  not 
help  studying  him  a  good  deal,  as  he  sat  there,  silent  and 
almost  as  motionless  as  a  statue;  nor  keep  from  noticing 
his  splendid  physique,  and  the  aristocratic  cut  of  his  feat 
ures;  nor  from  imagining  him  as  he  must  have  been  in  his 
youth.  She  was  absorbed  for  a  little  while,  picturing  this 
gallant  young  White  among  his  Indian  associates — trying 
to  fancy  how  he  treated  his  squaw  wife,  and  whether  he 
really  cared  for  her  as  he  would  for  a  White  woman;  then, 
she  wondered  what  kind  of  an  experience  his  present  life 
would  be  for  any  one  else — herself,  for  instance — living 
most  of  the  year  on  a  flat-boat  housed  in,  and  hiding  in 
sloughs,  and  all  manner  of  watery,  out-of-the-way  places. 
She  loved  forest  and  stream,  and  sylvan  shades,  well 
enough;  but  not  well  enough  for  that.  So  a  human  creat 
ure  who  could  thus  voluntarily  exile  himself  must  be  pecul 
iar.  But  Joe  Chillis  did  not  look  peculiar;  he  looked  as 
alive  and  human  as  anybody — in  fact,  particularly  alive  and 
human  just  now;  and  it  was  not  any  eccentricity  which  had 
brought  him  to  her  this  night,  but  a  real  human  reason. 
What  was  the  reason? 

What  with  his  mother's  cooing  whispers,  and  the  passing 
of  her  light  hand  over  his  hair,  Willie  had  fallen  asleep. 
Mrs.  Smiley  lifted  him  in  her  arms  and  laid  him  on  the 
lounge,  covering  him  carefully,  and  touching  him  tenderly, 
kissing  his  bright  curls  at  the  last.  Chillis  turned  to  watch 
her — he  could  not  help  it.  Perhaps  he  speculated  about 
her  way  of  living  and  acting,  as  she  had  speculated  about 
his.  Meantime,  the  tempest  outside  increased  in  fury,  and 
the  little  cottage  trembled  with  its  fitful  shocks. 


148  AN  OLD  FOOL. 

Now  that  Willie  was  asleep,  Mrs.  Chillis  felt  a  growing 
nervousness    and    embarrassment.      She    could   not   brin^ 

O 

herself  to  sit  down  again,  alone  with  Joe  Chillis.  Not  that 
she  was  afraid  of  him — there  was  nothing  in  his  appear 
ance  to  inspire  a  dread  of  the  man;  but  she  wanted  to 
know  what  he  was  there  for.  The  sensitive  nerves  of  the 
man  felt  this  mental  inquiry  of  her,  but  he  would  not  be 
the  first  to  speak;  so  he  let  her  nutter  about — brightening 
the  fire,  putting  to  right  things  that  were  right  enough  as 
they  were,  and  making  a  pretense  of  being  busied  with 
household  cares.  At  length,  there  was  nothing  more  to  do 
except  to  wind  the  clock,  which  stood  on  the  mantel,  over 
the  hearth.  Here  was  her  opportunity.  "  The  evening- 
has  seemed  very  long,"  she  said,  "  but  it  is  nine  o'clock,  at 
last." 

Chillis  got  up,  went  to  the  door,  and  opened  it.  The 
boat  was  bumping  against  the  floor  of  the  tiny  portico. 
She  saw  it,  too,  and  her  heart  gave  a  great  bound.  Chillis 
came  back,  and  sat  down  by  the  fire,  looking  very  grave 
and  preoccupied.  With  a  little  shiver,  she  sat  down  oppo 
site.  It  was  clear  that  he  had  no  intention  of  going;  and, 
strange  as  she  felt  the  situation  to  be,  she  experienced  a 
sort  of  relief  that  he  was  there.  She  was  not  a  cowardly 
woman,  nor  was  her  guest  one  she  would  have  been  likely 
to  appeal  to  in  any  peril;  but,  since  a  possible  peril  had 
come,  and  he  was  there  of  his  own  accord,  she  owned  to 
herself  she  was  not  sorry.  She  was  a  woman,  any  way, 
and  must  needs  require  services  of  men,  whoever  they 
might  be.  Having  disposed  of  this  question,  it  occurred 
to  her  to  be  gracious  to  the  man  whose  services  she  had 
made  up  her  mind  to  accept.  Glancing  into  his  face,  she 
noticed  its  pallor;  and  then  remembered  what  he  had  said 
about  being  capsized  in  the  bay,  and  that  he  was  an  old 
man;  and  then,  that  he  might  not  have  had  any  supper. 
All  of  which  inspired  her  to  say,  "I  beg  pardon,  Mr. 
Chillis.  I  presume  you  have  eaten  nothing  this  evening. 


AN  OLD  FOOL.  149 

I  shall  get  you  something,  right  away — a  cup  of  hot  coffee, 
for  instance."  And,  without  waiting  to  hear  his  faint 
denial,  Mrs.  Smiley  made  all  haste  to  put  her  hospitable 
intentions  into  practice,  and  soon  had  spread  a  little  table 
with  a  very  appetizing  array  of  cold  meats,  fruit,  bread, 
and  coffee. 

While  her  guest,  with  a  few  words  of  thanks,  accepted 
and  disposed  of  the  refreshments,  Mrs.  Smiley  sat  and 
gazed  at  the  fire  in  her  turn.  The  little  cottage  trembled, 
the  windows  rattled,  the  storm  roared  without,  and — yes, 
the  water  actually  lapped  against  the  house  !  She  started, 
turning  to  the  door.  The  wind  was  driving  the  flood  in 
under  it.  She  felt  a  chill  run  through  her  flesh. 

"  Mr.  Chillis,  the  water  is  really  coming  into  the  house  !" 

"  Yes,  I  reckoned  that  it  would/'  returned  the  old  man, 
calmly,  rising  from  the  table  and  returning  to  the  hearth. 
"  That  is  the  nicest  supper  I've  had  for  these  dozen  years; 
and  it  has  done  me  good,  too.  I  was  a  little  wore  out  with 
pullin'  over  the  bay,  agin  the  wind." 

Mrs.  Smiley  looked  at  him  curiously,  and  then  at  the 
water  splashing  in  under  the  door.  He  understood  her 
perfectly. 

"A  wettin'  wouldn't  hurt  you,  though  it  would  be  disa 
greeable,  an'  I  should  be  sorry  to  have  you  put  to  that 
inconvenience.  But  the  wind  and  the  water  may  unsettle 
the  foundation  o'  your  house,  the  chimney  bein'  on  the 
outside,  an/  no  support  to  it.  Even  that  would  not  cer 
tainly  put  you  in  danger,  as  the  frame  would  likely  float. 
But  I  knew,  ef  sech  a  thing  should  happen,  an'  you  here 
alone,  you  would  be  very  much  frightened,  an'  perhaps 
lose  your  life  a-tryin'  to  save  it." 

"  And  you  came  up  from  the  landing  in  all  this  storm  to 
take  care  of  ine?'J  Mrs.  Smiley  exclaimed,  with  flushing 
cheeks. 

cc  I  came  all  the  way  from  Astoria  to  do  it,"  answered 
Chillis,  looking  at  the  new-blown  roses  of  her  face. 


1.50  AN  OLD  FOOL. 

"And  Eben — —  She  checked  herself,  and  fixed  her 
eyes  upon  the  hearth. 

"  He  thought  there  was  no  danger,  most  likely." 

"Mr.  Chillis,  I  can  never  thank  you!"  she  cried,  fer 
vently,  as  she  turned  to  glance  at  the  sleeping  child. 

"  White  Rose,"  he  answered,  under  his  breath,  "  I  don't 
want  any  thanks  but  those  I've  got."  Then,  aloud  to  her: 
"You  might  have  some  blankets  ready,  in  case  we  are 
turned  out  o'  the  house.  The  fire  will  be  'most  sure  to  be 
put  out,  any  way,  an'  you  an'  the  boy  will  be  cold." 

Mrs.  Smiley  was  shivering  with  that  tenseness  of  the 
nerves  which  the  bravest  women  suffer  from,  when  obliged 
to  wait  the  slow  but  certain  approach  of  danger.  Her 
teeth  chattered  together,  as  she  went  about  her  band-box 
of  a  house,  collecting  things  that  would  be  needed,  should 
she  be  forced  to  abandon  the  shelter  of  its  lowly  roof;  and, 
as  she  was  thus  engaged,  she  thought  the  place  had  never 
seemed  so  cosy  as  it  did  this  wild  and  terrible  night.  She 
put  on  her  rubber  overshoes,  tied  snugly  on  a  pretty  wool- 
len  hood,  got  ready  a  pile  of  blankets  and  a  warm  shawl, 
lighted  a  large  glass  lantern  (as  she  saw  the  water  approach 
ing  the  fireplace),  and,  last,  proceeded  to  arouse  Willie, 
and  wrap  him  up  in  overcoat,  little  fur  cap,  and  warm  mit 
tens;  when  all  was  done,  she  turned  and  looked  anxiously 
at  the  face  of  her  guest.  It  might  have  been  a  mask,  for 
all  she  could  learn  from  it.  He  was  silently  watching  her, 
not  looking  either  depressed  or  hopeful.  She  went  up  to 
him,  and  touched  his  sleeve.  "  How  wet  you  are,  still," 
she  said,  compassionately.  "I  had  forgotten  that  you  must 
must  have  been  uncomfortable  after  your  capsize  in  the 
bay.  Perhaps  it  is  not  too  late  to  change  your  clothes. 
You  will  find  some  of  Eben's  in  the  next  room.  Shall  I 
lay  them  out  for  you?  " 

He  smiled  when  she  touched  him,  a  bright,  warm  smile, 
that  took  away  ten  years  of  his  age;  but  he  did  not  move. 

"No,"  said  he,  "it's  no  use  now,  to  put  on  dry  clothes. 


AN  OLD  FOOL.  151 

It  won't  hurt  me  to  be  wet;  I'm  used  to  it;  but  I  shall  be 
sorry  when  this  cheerful  fire  is  out." 

He  had  hardly  spoken,  when  a  blast  struck  the  house, 
more  terrific  than  any  that  had  gone  before  it,  and  a  nar- 
rowr  crack  became  visible  between  the  hearth-stone  and  the 
floor,  through  which  the  water  oozed  in  quite  rapidly. 
Mrs.  Smiley's  face  blanched. 

"That  started  the  house  a  leetle,"  said  Chillis,  lighting 
his  lantern  by  the  fire. 

"  Could  we  get  to  the  landing,  do  you  think?"  asked  Mrs. 
Smiley,  springing  instinctively  to  the  lounge,  where  the 
child  lay  in  a  half-slumber. 

"Not  afore  the  tide  begins  to  run  out.  Ef  it  was  day 
light,  we  might,  by  keepin'  out  o'  the  channel;  but  the  best 
we  can  do  now  is  to  stick  to  the  place  wre're  in  as  long  as  it 
holds  together,  or  keeps  right  side  up.  When  we  can't 
stay  no  longer,  we'll  take  to  the  boat." 

"I  believe  you  know  best,  Mr.  Chillis;  but  it's  frightful 
waiting  for  one's  house  to  float  away  from  under  one's  feet, 
or  fall  about  one's  head.  And  the  tide,  too!  I  have  alwrays 
feared  and  hated  the  tides,  they  have  been  a  horror  to  me 
ever  since  I  came  here.  It  seems  so  dreadful  to  have  the 
earth  slowly  sinking  into  the  sea;  for  that  is  the  way  it  ap 
pears  to  do,  you  know." 

"Yes,  I  remember  hearin'  you  say  you  w^ere  nervous 
about  the  tides,  once,  when  I  called  here  to  see  your  hus 
band.  Curious,  that  I  often  thought  o'  that  chance  sayin' 
o'  yours,  isn't  it?  " 

Mrs.  Smiley's  reply  was  a  smothered  cry  of  terror,  as 
another  blast — sudden,  strong,  protracted  —  pushed  the 
house  still  further  away  from  the  fire-place,  letting  the 
storm  in  at  the  opening;  for  it  was  from  that  direction  that 
the  wind  came. 

"Now  she  floats! "  exclaimed  Chillis.  "  We'll  soon  know 
whether  she's  seaworthy  or  not.  I  had  better  take  a  look  at 
my  boat,  I  reckon;  for  that's  our  last  resort,  in  case  your 


152  AN  OLD  FOOL. 

ark  is  worthless,  Mrs.  Smiley."  He  laughed  softly,  and 
stepped  more  vigorously  than  he  had  done,  as  the  danger 
grew  more  certain. 

"All  right  yet— cable  not  parted;  ready  to  do  us  a  good 
turn,  if  we  need  it." 

"We  shall  not  be  floated   off   to 'the  bay,    shall  we?" 
asked  Mrs.  Smile}',  trying  to  smile  too. 
"Not  afore  the  tide  turns,  certain.3' 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  I  should  feel  safer  anywhere  than 
here.  Unseen  dangers  always  are  harder  to  battle  with, 
even  in  imagination.  I  do  not  wish  to  put  you  to  any  fur 
ther  trouble;  but  I  should  not  mind  the  storm  and  the  open 
boat  so  much  as  seeing  my  house  going  to  pieces,  with  me 
in  it— and  Willie." 

"'I've  been  a-thinkin',"  replied  Chillis,  "that  the  house, 
arter  all,  ain't  goin'  to  be  much  protection,  with  the  water 
splashin'  under  foot,  an'  the  wind  an'  rain  drivin'  in  on  that 
side  where  the  chimney  is  took  away.  It's  an  awful  pity 
such  a  neat,  nice  little  place  should  come  to  grief,  like  this 
— a  real  snug  little  home!  " 

"And  what  else  were  you  thinking  ?  " — bringing  him  back 
to  the  subject  of  expedients. 

"  You  mentioned  goin'  to  the  Ian  din'.  Well,  we  can't  go 
there;  for  I  doubt  ef  I  could  find  the  way  in  the  dark,  with 
the  water  over  the  tops  of  the  bushes  on  the  creek  ban!:. 
Besides,  in  broad  daylight  it  would  be  tough  work,  pullin' 
agin'  the  flood;  an'  I  had  the  inisfortin  to  hurt  my  shoulder, 
tryin'  to  right  my  boat  in  the  bay,  which  partly  disables 
me,  I  am  sorry  to  say;  for  I  should  like  to  put  my  whole 
strength  to  your  service." 

"  O,  Mr.  Chillis! — say  no  more,  I  beg.  How  selfish  I 
am !  when  you  have  been  so  kind — with  a  bruise  on  your 
shoulder,  and  all!  Cannot  I  do  anything  for  }'ou?  I  have 
liquor  in  the  closet,  if  you  would  like  to  bathe  with  it." 

"  See — she  moves  again!  "  cried  he,  as  the  house  swayed 
yet  further  away  from  the  smouldering  fire.  "  I've  heard 


AN  OLD  FOOL.  153 

of  '  abandoning  one's  hearth-stone;'  but  I'd  no  idea  that 
was  the  way  they  done  it." 

"  I  had  best  get  the  brandy,  any  way,  I  think.  "We  may 
need  it,  if  we  are  forced  to  go  into  the  boat.  But  do  let 
me  do  something  for  you  now,  Mr.  Chillis?  It  seems 
cruel,  that  you  have  been  in  your  wet  clothes  for  hours,  and 
tired  and  bruised  besides." 

"  Thankee— 'tain't  no  use!"— as  she  offered  him  the 
brandy-flask.  "  The  lady  clown  at  the  landin'  put  on  a 
plaster,  as  you  can  see  for  yourself " — throwing  back  the 
corner  of  a  cloth  cape  the  woman  had  placed  over  his 
shoulders,  to  cover  the  rent  in  his  coat.  "  The  doctor  will 
have  to  fix  it  up,  I  reckon;  for  it  is  cut  up  pretty  bad  with 
the  iron." 

Mrs.  Smiley  turned  suddenly  sick.  She  wTas  just  at  that 
stage  of  excitement  when  "a  rose-leaf  on  the  beaker's 
brim  "  causes  the  overflow  of  the  cup.  The  undulations  of 
the  water,  under  the  floor  and  over  it,  contributed  still  fur 
ther  to  the  feeling;  and  she  hurried  to  the  lounge  to  save 
herself  from  falling.  Here  she  threw  herself  beside  Willie, 
and  cried  a  little,  quietly,  under  cover  of  her  shawl. 

"There  she  goes!  Well,  this  isn't  pleasant,  noways," 
said  Chillis,  as  the  house,  freed  with  a  final  crash  from  im 
pediments,  swayed  about  unsteadily,  impelled  by  wind  and 
water.  "  I  was  sayin',  a  bit  ago,  that  we  could  not  git  to 
the  landin',  at  present.  There  are  three  ways  o'  choosin', 
though,  which  are  these:  to  stay  where  we  are;  to  git  into 
the  boat,  an'  let  the  house  take  its  chances;  or  to  try  to  git 
to  my  cabin,  where  we  would  be  safe  an'  could  keep  warm." 

"  How  long  would  it  take  us  to  get  to  your  house?"  asked 
Mrs.  Smiley,  from  under  her  shawl. 

"An  hour,  mebbe.     We  should  have  to  feel  our  way." 

Mrs.  Smiley  reflected.  Sitting  out  in  an  open  boat,  with 
out  trying  to  do  anything,  would  be  horrible;  staying  where 
she  was  would  be  hardly  less  so.  It  would  be  six  or  seven 
hours  still  to  daylight.  '  There  was  no  chance  of  the  storm 
abating,  though  the  water  must  recede  after  midnight. 


154  AN  OLD  FOOL. 

"Let  us  go,"  she  said,  sitting  up.  "  You  will  not  desert 
me,  I  know;  and  why  should  I  keep  you  here  all  night,  in 
anxiety  and  peril?  Once  at  home,  you  can  rest  and  nurse 
yourself." 

"So  be  it;  an'  God  help  us!" 

"Amen!" 

Chillis  opened  the  door  and  looked  out,  placing  a  light 
first  in  the  window.  Then  coming  back  for  a  basin,  he 
waded  out,  bailed  his  boat,  and,  unfastening  the  chain, 
hauled  it  alongside  the  doorway.  Mrs.  Smiley  had  hastily 
put  some  provisions  into  a  tin  bucket,  with  a  cover,  and 
some  things  for  Willie  into  another,  and  stood  holding 
them,  ready  to  be  stowed  away. 

"You  will  have  to  take  the  tiller,"  said  Chillis,  placing 
the  buckets  safely  in  the  boat. 

"I  meant  to  take  an  oar,"  said  she. 

"If  you  know  how  to  steer,  it  will  be  better  for  me  to 
pull  alone.  Now,  let  us  have  the  boy,  right  in  the  bottom, 
here,  with  plenty  o'  blankets  under  and  over  him;  the  same 
for  yourself.  The  lanterns — so.  Now,  jump  in!" 

"The  fire  is  dead  oil  the  hearth,"  she  said,  looking  back 
through  the  empty  house,  and  across  the  gap  of  water 
showing  through  the  broken  wall.  "  What  a  horrible  scene  ! 
God  sent  you,  Mr.  Chillis,  to  help  me  live  through  it." 

"I  believe  he  did.     Are  you  quite  ready?" 

"Quite;  only  tell  me  what  I  must  do.  I  wish  I  could 
help  you." 

"You  do?"  he  answered;  and  then  he  bent  himself  to 
the  work  before  him,  with  a  sense  of  its  responsibility  which 
exalted  it  into  a  deed  of  the  purest  chivalry. 

PART  IT. 

THE  widow  Smiley  did  not  live  on  Clatsop  Plains.  Ever 
since  the  great  storm  at  Christmas,  when  her  house  was 
carried  off  its  foundations  by  the  high  tide,  she  had  refused 
to  go  back  to  it.  When  the  neighbors  heard  of  her  hus- 


AN  OLD  FOOL.  155 

band's  death,  they  took  her  over  to  Astoria  to  see  him 
buried,  for  there  was  no  home  to  bring  him  to,  and  she  had 
never  returned.  Smiley,  they  say,  was  drowned  where  he 
fell,  in  the  streets  of  Astoria,  that  night  of  the  high  tide, 
being  too  intoxicated  to  get  up.  But  nobody  told  the 
widow  that.  They  said  to  her  that  he  stumbled  off  the 
wharf,  in  the  dark,  and  that  the  tide  brought  him  ashore, 
and  that  was  enough  for  her  to  know. 

She  was  staying  with  the  family  at  the  landing  when  the 
news  came,  two  days  after  his  death.  Joe  Chillis  brought 
her  things  down  to  the  landing,  and  had  them  sent  over  to 
Astoria,  where  she  decided  to  stay;  and  afterward  she  sold 
the  farm  and  bought  a  small  house  in  town,  where,  after 
two  or  three  months,  she  opened  a  school  for  young  chil 
dren.  And  the  women  of  the  place  had  all  taken  to  making 
much  of  Joe  Chillis,  in  consideration  of  his  conduct  during 
that  memorable  time,  and  of  his  sufferings  in  consequence; 
for  be  was  laid  up  a  long  while  afterward  with  that  hurt  in 
his  shoulder,  and  the  consequences  of  his  exposure.  Mrs. 
Smiley  always  treated  him  with  the  highest  respect,  and  did 
not  conceal  that  she  had  a  great  regard  for  him,  if  he  was 
nothing  but  an  old  mountain  man,  who  had  had  a  squaw 
wife  ;  which  regard,  under  the  circumstances,  was  not  to  be 
wondered  at. 

Widow  Smiley  was  young,  and  pretty,  and  smart;  and 
Captain  Rumway,  the  pilot,  was  dreadfully  taken  up  with 
her,  and  nobody  would  blame  her  for  taking  a  second  hus 
band,  who  was  able  and  willing  to  provide  \vell  for  her.  If 
it  was  to  be  a  match,  nobody  would  speak  a  word  against  it. 
It  was  said  that  he  had  left  off  drinking  on  her  account,  and 
was  building  a  fine  house  up  on  the  hill,  on  one  of  the  pret 
tiest  lots  in  town.  Such  was  the  gossip  about  Mrs.  Smiley, 
a  year  and  a  half  after  the  night  of  the  high  tide. 

It  was  the  afternoon  of  a  July  day,  in  Astoria;  and,  since 
we  have  given  the  reader  so  dismal  a  picture  of  December, 
let  us,  in  justice,  say  a  word  about  this  July  day.  All  day 


156  AN  OLD  FOOL. 

long  the  air  had  been  as  bright  and  clear  as  crystal,  and  the 
sun  had  sparkled  on  the  blue  waters  of  the  noblest  of  rivers 
without  blinding  the  eyes  with  glare,  or  sickening  the  senses 
with  heat.  Along  either  shore  rose  lofty  highlands,  crowned 
with  cool-looking  forests  of  dark-green  firs.  Far  to  the 
east,  like  a  cloud  on  the  horizon,  the  snowy  cone  of  St. 
Helen's  mountain  stood  up  above  the  wooded  heights  of  the 
Cascade  Range,  with  Mount  Adams  peeping  over  its  shoul 
der.  Quite  near,  and  partly  closing  off  the  view  up  the 
river,  was  picturesque  Tongue  Point— a  lovely  island  of 
green — connected  with  the  shore  only  by  a  low  and  narrow 
isthmus.  From  this  promontory  to  the  point  below  the 
town,  the  bank  of  the  river  was  curtained  and  garlanded 
with  blossoming  shrubs — mock-orange,  honeysuckle,  spirea, 
aerifolia,  crimson  roses,  and  clusters  of  elder-berries,  laven 
der,  scarlet,  and  orange — everywhere,  except  where  men 
had  torn  them  away  to  make  room  for  their  improvements. 

Looking  seaward,  there  was  the  long  line  of  white  surf 
which  marks  where  sea  and  river  meet,  miles  away;  with 
the  cape  and  light-house  tower  standing  out  in  sharp  relief 
against  the  expanse  of  ocean  beyond,  and  sailing  vessels 
lying  off  the  bar  waiting  for  Runaway  and  his  associates  to 
come  off  and  show  them  the  entrance  between  the  sand- 
spits.  And  nearer,  all  about  on  the  surface  of  the  spark 
ling  river,  snowy  sails  were  glancing  in  the  sun,  like  the 
wings  of  birds  that  skim  beside  them.  It  is  hard,  in  July, 
to  believe  it  has  ever  been  December. 

Perhaps  Mrs.  Smiley  was  thinking  so,  as  from  her  rose- 
embowered  cottage-porch  on  the  hill,  not  far  from  Captain 
Runaway's  new  house,  she  watched  the  sun  sinking  in  a 
golden  glory  behind  the  light-house  and  the  cape.  Her 
school  dismissed  for  the  week,  and  her  household  tasks 
completed,  she  was  taking  her  repose  in  a  great  sleepy- 
hollow  of  a  chair,  near  enough  to  the  roses  to  catch  their 
delicate  fragrance.  Her  white  dress  looked  fresh  and 
dainty,  with  a  rose-colored  ribbon  at  the  throat,  and  a 


AN  OLD  FOOL.  157 

bunch  of  spirea;  sea-foam,  Willie  called  it,  in  her  gleam 
ing,  braided  hair.  Her  great  gray  eyes,  neither  sad  nor 
bright,  but  sweetly  serious,  harmonized  the  delicate  pure 
tones  that  made  up  her  person  and  her  dress,  leaving  noth 
ing  to  be  desired,  except,  perhaps,  a  suggestion  of  color  in 
the  clear,  white  oval  of  her  cheeks.  And  that  an  accident 
supplied. 

For,  while  the  sun  yet  sent  lances  of  gold  up  out  of  the 
sea,  the  garden  gate  clicked,  and  Captain  Eumway  came 
up  the  walk.  He  was  a  handsome  man,  of  fine  figure,  with 
a  bronzed  complexion,  dark  eyes,  and  hair  always  becom 
ingly  tossed  up,  owing  to  a  slight  wave  in  it,  and  a  springy 
quality  it  had  of  its  own.  The  sun  and  sea-air,  while  they 
had  bronzed  his  face,  had  imparted  to  his  cheeks  that  rich 
glow  which  is  often  the  only  thing  lacking  to  make  a  dark 
face  beautiful.  Looking  at  him,  one  could  hardly  help 
catching  something  of  his  glow,  if  only  through  admiration 
of  it.  Mrs.  Smiley's  sudden  color  w:as  possibly  to  be  ac 
counted  for  on  this  ground. 

"Good  evening,  Mrs.  Smiley,"  he  said,  lifting  his  hat 
gracefully.  "I  have  come  to  ask  you  to  walk  over  and  look 
at  my  house.  No,  thank  you;  I  will  not  come  in,  if  you  are 
ready  for  the  walk.  I  wrill  stop  here  and  smell  these  roses 
while  you  get  your  hat." 

"  Is  your  house  so  nearly  completed,  then?  "  she  asked, 
as  they  went  down  the  walk  together.' 

''  So  nearly,  that  I  require  a  woman's  opinion  upon  the 
inside  arrangements;  and  there  is  no  one  whose  judgment 
upon  such  matters  I  value  more  than  yours." 

•''  I  suppose  you  mean  to  imply  that  I  am  a  good  house 
keeper?  But  there  is  great  diversity  of  taste  among  good 
housekeepers,  Mr.  Kumway." 

"  Your  taste  will  suit  me — that  I  am  sure  of.  I  did  not 
see  Willie  at  home;  is  he  gone  away?"  he  asked,  to  cover 
a  sudden  embarrassing  consciousness. 

"  I  let  him  go  home  with  Mr.  Chillis,  last  evening,  but  I 
expect  him  home  to-night." 


158  AX  OLD  FOOL. 

1 '  Poor  old  Joe !  He  takes  a  great  deal  of  comfort  with, 
the  boy.  And  no  wonder! — he  is  a  charming  child,  worthy 
such  parentage/' — glancing'  at  his  companion's  face. 

"I  am  glad  when  anything  of  mine  gives  Mr.  Chillis 
pleasure,"  returned  Mrs.  Smiley,  looking  straight  ahead. 
"  I  teach  Willie  to  have  a  great  respect  and  love  for  him. 
It  is  the  least  we  can  do." 

Runaway  noticed  the  inclusive  we,  and  winced.  "He  is 
a  strange  man,''  he  said,  by  way  of  answer. 

"A  hero!"  cried  Mrs.  Smiley  firmly. 

"  And  never  more  so  then  when  in  whisky,"  added  Rum- 
way,  ungenerously. 

"  Younger  and  more  fortunate  men  have  had  that  fault," 
she  returned,  thinking  of  Eben. 

"  And  conquered    it,"    he    added,    thinking   of  himself. 

"  Here  we  are.  Just  step  in  this  door-way  a  bit  and  look 
at  the  view.  Glorious,  isn't  it  ?  I  have  sent  for  a  lot  of 
very  choice  shrubs  and  trees  for  the  grounds,  and  mean  to 
make  this  the  prettiest  place  in  town." 

"It  must  be  very  pretty,  with  this  view,"  replied  Mrs. 
Smiley,  drinking  in  the  beauty  of  the  scene  with  genuine 
delight. 

"Please  to  step  inside.  Now,  it  is  about  the  arrange 
ment  of  the  doors,  windows,  closets,  and  all  that,  I  wanted 
advice.  I  am  told  that  ladies  claim  to  understand  these 
things  better  than  men." 

"  They  ought,  I  am  sure,  since  the  house  is  alone  their 
realm.  AVhat  a  charming  room!  So  light,  so  airy,  with 
such  a  view!  and  the  doors  and  windows  in  the  right  places, 
too.  And  this  cunning  little  porch  towards  the  west!  I'm 
glad  you  have  that  porch,  Mr.  Runaway.  I  have  always  said 
every  house  should  have  a  sunset  porch.  I  enjoy  mine  so 
much  these  lovely  summer  evenings." 

And  so  they  went  through  the  house:  she  delighted  with 
it,  in  the  main,  but  making  little  suggestions,  here  and 
there;  he  palpitating  with  her  praises,  as  if  they  had  been 


AN  OLD  FOOL.  159 

bestowed  on  himself.  And,  indeed,  was  not  this  house  a 
part  of  himself,  having  so  many  of  his  sweetest  hopes  built 
into  it?  For  what  higher  proof  does  a  man  give  of  a 
worthy  love  then  in  constructing  a  bright  and  cheerful  shel 
ter  for  the  object  of  it — than  in  making  sure  of  a  fitting 
home  ? 

"  It  will  lack  nothing,"  she  said,  as  they  stood  together 
again  on  the  "  sunset  porch/'  talking  of  so  grouping  the 
shrubbery  as  not  to  intercept  the  view. 

"  Except  a  mistress,"  he  added,  turning  his  eyes  upon 
her  face,  full  of  intense  meaning.  "  With  the  right  woman 
in  it,  it  will  seem  perfect  to  me,  without  her,  it  is  nothing 
but  a  monument  of  my  folly.  There  is  but  one  woman  I 
ever  want  to  see  in  it.  Can  you  guess  who  it  is  ?  Will  you 
come  ?  " 

Mrs.  Smiley  looked  up  into  the  glowing  face  bent  over 
her,  searching  the  passionate  dark  eyes  with  her  clear,  cool 
gaze;  while  slowly  the  delicate  color  crept  over  face  and 
neck,  as  her  eyes  fell  before  his  ardent  looks,  and  she  drew 
in  her  breath  quickly. 

"I,  I  do  not  know;  there  are  so  many  things  to  think  of." 
"  What  things?    Let  me  help  you  consider  them.    If  you 
mean — 

"O,  mamma,  mamma!"  shouted  Willie,  from  the  street. 
"Here  we  are,  and  I've  had  such  a  splendid  time.  We've 
got  some  fish  for  you,  too.  Are  you  coming  right  home?'' 
And  there,  on  the  sidewalk,  was  Chillis,  carrying  a  basket, 
with  his  hat  stuck  full  of  flowers,  and  as  regardless  as  a 
child  of  the  drollery  of  his  appearance. 

Mrs.  Smiley  started  a  little  as  she  caught  the  expression 
of  his  face,  thinking  it  did  not  comport  with  the  holiday 
appearance  of  his  habiliments,  and  hastened  at  once  to 
obey  its  silent  appeal.  Bum  way  walked  beside  her  to  the 
gate. 

"Have  you  no  answer  for  me?:'  he  asked,  hurriedly. 
"Give  me  a  week,"  she  returned,  and  slipped  away  from 


160  AN  OLD   FOOL. 

him,  taking  the  basket  from  Chillis,  and  ordering  Willie  to 
carry  it,  while  she  walked  by  the  old  man's  side. 

"You  have  been  lookin'  at  your  new  house?  he  remarked. 
"You  need  not  try  to  hide  your  secret  from  me.  I  see  it 
in  your  face;"  and  he  looked  long  and  wistfully  upon  the 
rosy  record. 

"If  you  see  something  in  my  face,  I  see  something  in 
yours.  You  have  a  trouble,  a  new  pain  of  some  kind. 
Yesterday  you  looked  forty,  and  radiant;  this  evening  your 
face  is  white  and  drawn  by  suffering." 

"You  do  observe  the  old  man's  face  sometimes,  then? 
That  other  has  not  quite  blotted  it  out?  O,  my  lovely  lady! 
How  sweet  an'  dainty  you  look,  in  that  white  dress.  It  does 
my  old  eyes  good  to  look  at  you." 

"  Y"ou  are  never  too  ill  or  sad  to  make  me  pretty  compli 
ments,  Mr.  Chillis.  Do  you  know,  I  think  I  have  grown 
quite  vain  since  I  have  had  you  to  natter  me.  We  consti 
tute  a  mutual  admiration  society,  I'm  sure." 

Then  she  led  him  into  the  rose-covered  porch,  and  seated 
him  in  the  "  sleepy-hollow;"  brought  him  a  dish  of  straw 
berries,  and  told  him  to  rest  while  she  got  ready  his 
supper. 

"Best!"  he  answered;  "  I'm  not  tired.  Willie  an'  I 
cooked  our  own  supper,  too.  So  you  jest  put  Willie  to 
bed— he's  tired  enough,  I  guess — an'  then  come  an'  talk  to 
me.  That's  all  I  want  to-night — is  jest  to  hear  the  White 
Rose  talk." 

While  Mrs.  Smiley  was  occupied  with  Willie — his  wants 
and  his  prattle — her  guest  sat  motionless,  his  head  on  his 
hand,  his  elbow  resting  on  the  arm  of  the  chair.  He  had 
that  rare  repose  of  bearing  which  is  understood  to  be  a 
sign  of  high  breeding,  but  in  him  was  temperament,  or  a 
quietude  caught  from  nature  and  solitude.  It  gave  a  posi 
tive  charm  to  his  manner,  whether  animated  or  depressed; 
a  dignified,  introspective,  self-possessed  carriage,  that 
suited  with  his  powerfully  built,  symmetrical  frame,  and 


AN  OLD  FOOL.  161 

regular  cast  of  features.  Yet,  self-contained  as  his  usual 
expression  was,  his  face  was  capable  of  vivid  illuminations, 
and  striking  changes  of  aspect,  under  the  influence  of  feel 
ings  either  pleasant  or  painful.  In  the  shadow  of  the  rose- 
vines,  and  the  gathering  twilight,  it  would  have  been 
impossible  to  discern,  by  any  change  of  feature,  what  his 
meditations  might  be  now. 

"  The  moon  is  full  to-night,"  said  Mrs.  Smiley,  bringing 
out  her  low  rocker  and  placing  it  near  her  friend.  "It 
will  be  glorious  on  the  river,  and  all  the  '  young  folks '  will 
be  out,  I  suppose." 

"  Did  not  Rumway  ask  you  to  go?  Don't  let  me  keep 
you  at  home,  ef  he  did." 

"No;  I  am  not  counted  among  young  folks  any  longer," 
returned  she,  with  a  little  sigh,  that  might  mean  something 
or  nothing.  Then  a  silence  fell  between  them  for  several 
minutes.  It  was  the  fashion  of  these  friends  to  wait  for  the 
spirit  to  move  them  to  converse,  and  not  unfrequently  a 
silence  longer  than  that  which  wras  in  heaven  came  between 
their  sentences;  but  to-night  there  was  thunder  in  their 
spiritual  atmosphere,  and  the  stillness  was  oppressive.  Mrs. 
Smiley  beat  a  tattoo  with  her  slipper. 

"  Kumway  asked  you  to  marry  him,  did  he?"  began  Chil 
lis,  at  last,  in  a  low  and  measured  tone. 

"Yes." 

"  An'  you  accepted  him  ?  " 

"  Not  yet" — in  a  quavering  adagio. 

"But  you  will?" 

"  Perhaps  so.     I  do  not  know  " — in  a  firmer  voice. 

"  Kumway  is  doin'  well,  an'  he  is  a  pretty  good  fellow,  as 
men  go.  But  he  is  not  half  the  man  that  I  was  at  his  age 
— or,  rather,  that  I  might  have  been,  ef  I  had  had  sech  a 
motive  for  bein'  a  man  as  he  has." 

"  It  is  not  difficult  to  believe  that,  Mr.  Chillis.     There  is 
heroic  material  in  you,  and,  I  fear,  none  in  Mr.  Runaway." 
She  spoke  naturally  and  cheerfully  now,  as  if  she  had  no 
11 


162  AN  OLD  FOOL. 

sentiment  too  sacred  to  be  revealed  about  the  person  in 
question.     "  But  why  was  there  no  motive  ?  " 

"  Why?  It  was  my  fate;  there  wras  none — that's  all.  I 
had  gone  off  to  the  mountains  when  a  lad,  an'  couldn't  git 
back — couldn't  even  git  letters  from  home.  The  fur  com 
panies  didn't  allow  o'  correspondence — it  made  their  men 
homesick.  When  I  came  to  be  a  man,  I  did  as  the  other 
men  did,  took  an  Indian  wife,  an'  became  the  father  o'  half- 
breed  children.  I  never  expected  to  live  any  other  way 
than  jest  as  we  lived  then — roamiii'  about  the  mountains, 
exposed  to  dangers  continually,  an'  reckless  because  it  was 
no  use  to  think.  But,  after  I  had  been  a  savage  for  a  dozen 
years — long  enough  to  ruin  any  man — the  fur  companies 
began  to  break  up.  The  beaver  were  all  hunted  out  o'  the 
mountains.  The  men  were  ashamed  to  go  home — Indians 
as  we  all  were — an'  so  drifted  off  down  here,  where  it  was 
possible  to  git  somethin'  to  eat,  an'  where  there  was  quite  a 
settlement  o'  retired  trappers,  missionaries,  deserted  sailors, 
and  such-like  Whites." 

"  You  brought  your  families  with  you  ?  " 

"  Of  course.  We  could  not  leave  them  in  the  mountains, 
with  the  children,  to  starve.  Besides,  we  loved  our  chil 
dren.  They  were  not  to  blame  for  bein'  half-Indian ;  an'  we 
could  not  separate  them  from  their  mothers,  ef  wre  had  a- 
wished.  We  did  the  only  thing  we  could  do,  under  the 
circumstances — married  the  mothers  by  White  men's  laws, 
to  make  the  children  legitimate.  Even  the  heads  of  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company  were  forced  to  comply  with  the 
sentiment  of  the  White  settlers;  an'  their  descendants  are 
among  the  first  families  of  Oregon.  But  they  had  money 
an'  position ;  the  trappers  had  neither,  though  there  were 
some  splendid  men  among  them — so  our  families  were 
looked  down  upon.  O,  White  Hose!  didn't  I  use  to  have 
some  bitter  thoughts  in  those  days  ?  for  my  blood  was  high 
blood,  in  the  State  where  I  was  raised." 

I  can  imagine  it,  very  easily,"  said  Mrs.  Smiley,  softly. 


. . 


AN  OLD  FOOL.  163 

"But  I  never  let  on.  I  was  wild  and  devil-may-care. 
To  hide  my  mortification,  I  faced  it  out,  as  well  as  I  could; 
but  I  wasn't  made,  in  the  beginning  for  that  kind  o'  life, 
an'  it  took  away  my  manhood.  After  the  country  began  to 
settle  up,  an'  families — real  White  families — began  to  move 
in,  I  used  to  be  nearly  crazy,  sometimes.  Many's  the  day 
that  I've  rode  through  the  woods,  or  over  the  prairies,  tryin' 
to  git  away  from  myself;  but  I  never  said  a  cross  word  to 
the  squaw  wife.  Why  should  I? — it  was  not  her  fault. 
Sometimes  she  fretted  at  me  (the  Indian  women  are  great 
scolds);  but  I  did  not  answer  her  back.  I  displeased  her 
with  my  vagabond  ways,  very  likely— her  White  husband, 
to  whom  she  looked  for  better  things.  I  couldn't  work;  I 
didn't  take  no  interest  in  work,  like  other  men." 

"O,  Mr.  Chillis!  was  not  that  a  great  mistake?  Would 
not  some  kind  of  ambition  have  helped  to  fill  up  the  blank 
in  your  life,?" 

:( I  didn't  have  an}* — I  couldn't  have  any,  with  that  old 
Indian  woman  sittin'  there,  in  the  corner  o'  my  hearth. 
When  the  crazy  fit  came  on,  I  jest  turned  my  back  on 
home,  an'  mounted  my  horse  for  a  long,  lonely  ride,  or 
went  to  town  and  drank  whisky  till  I  was  past  rememberin' 
my  trouble.  But  I  never  complained.  The  men  I  asso 
ciated  with  expected  me  to  amuse  them,  an'  I  generally 
did,  with  all  manner  o'  wild  freaks  an'  incredible  stories- 
some  o'  which  were  truer  than  they  believed,  for  I  had  had 
plenty  of  adventures  in  the  mountains.  White  Rose,  do 
you  imagine  I  ever  loved  that  squaw  wife  o'  mine?" 

"I  remember  asking  myself  such  a  question,  that  night 
of  the  storm,  as  you  stood  by  the  fire,  so  still  and  strange. 
I  was  speculating  about  your  history,  and  starting  these 
very  queries  you  have  answered  to-night." 

"  But  you  have  never  asked  me." 

"No;  how  could  I?  But  I  am  glad  to  know.  Now  I 
understand  the  great  patience  —  the  tender,  pathetic  pa 
tience—which  I  have  often  remarked  in  you.  Only  those 
who  have  suffered  long  and  silently  can  ever  attain  to  it." 


164  AN  OLD  FOOL. 

"An'  so  people  say,  '  Poor  old  Joe  !'  an'  they  don't  know 
what  they  mean,  when  they  say  it.  They  think  I  am  a 
man  without  the  ambitions  an'  passions  of  other  men;  a 
simple,  good  fellow,  without  too  much  brain,  an'  only  the 
heart  of  a  fool.  But  they  don't  know  me — they  don't  know 
me  !" 

"How  could  they,  without  hearing  what  you  have  just 
told  me,  or  without  knowing  you  as  I  know  you?" 

"  They  never  will  know.  I  don't  want  to  be  pitied  for 
my  mistakes.  '  Poor  old  Joe'  is  proud,  as  well  as  poor." 

Mrs.  Smiley  sat  silent,  gazing  at  the  river's  silver  ripples. 
Her  shapely  hands  were  folded  in  her  lap;  her  whole  atti 
tude  quiet,  absorbed.  Whether  she  was  thinking  of  what 
she  had  heard,  or  whether  she  had  forgotten  it,  no  one 
could  have  guessed  from  her  manner;  and  Chillis  could 
not  wait  to  know.  The  fountains  of  the  deep  had  been 
stirred  until  they  would  not  rest. 

"  Was  there  no  other  question  you  asked  yourself  about 
the  old  mountain  man  which  he  can  answer?  Did  you 
never  wonder  whether  he  ever  had  loved  at  all  ?" 

"  You  have  made  me  wonder,  to-night,  whether,  at  some 
period  of  your  life,  you  have  not  loved  some  woman  of  your 
own  race  and  color.  You  must  have  had  some  opportu 
nities  of  knowing  white  women." 

«  Very  few.  An'  my  pride  was  agin  seekin'  what  I  knew 
was  not  for  me ;  for  the  woman  I  fancied  to  myself  was  no 
common  white  woman.  White  Rose,  I  carried  a  young 
man's  heart  in  my  bosom  until  I  was  near  sixty,  an'  then  I 
lost  it."  He  put  out  a  hand  and  touched  one  of  hers,  ever 
so  lightly.  "  I  need  not  tell  you  any  more." 

A  silence  that  made  their  pulses  seem  audible  followed 
this  confession.  A  heavy  shadow  descended  upon  both 
hearts,  and  a  sudden  dreary  sense  of  an  unutterable  and 
unalterable  sorrow  burdened  their  spirits. 

After  a  little,  "Mr.  Chillis!  Mr.  Chillis!"  wailed  the 
woman's  pathetic  voice;  and  "  O,  my  lovely  lady!"  sighed 
the  man's. 


AN  OLD  FOOL.  165 

"What  shall  I  do?  what  shall  I  do?  I  am  so  sorry. 
What  shall  I  do?" 

"Tell  me  to  go.  I  knew  it  would  have  to  end  so.  I 
knew  that  Burn  way  would  drive  me  to  say  what  I  ought  not 
to  say;  for  he  is  not  worthy  o3  you — no  man  that  I  know  of 
is.  Ef  I  was  as  young  as  he,  an'  had  his  chance,  I  would 
make  myself  worthy  o'  you,  or  die.  But  it  is  too  late. 
Old  Joe  Chillis  may  starve  his  heart,  as  he  has  many  a  time 
starved  his  body  in  the  desert.  But  I  did  love  you  so!  O, 
my  sweet  "White  Rose,  I  did  love  you  so!  always,  from  the 
first  time  I  saw  you/3 

"  What  is  that  you  say  ? 33  said  Mrs.  Smiley,  in  a  shocked 
voice. 

"Always,  I  said,  from  the  first  time  I  saw  you.  My  love 
was  true;  it  did  not  harm  you.  I  said,  '  There  is  such  a 
woman  as  God  designed  for  me.  But  it  is  too  late  to  have 
her  now.  I  will  jest  worship  her  humbly,  a  great  ways  off, 
an' say  "  God  bless  her!"  when  she  passes;  an'  think  o' 
her  sweet  ways  when  I  am  ridin'  through  the  woods,  or 
polin'  my  huntin'-boat  up  the  sloughs,  among  the  willows 
an'  pond-lilies.  She  would  hardly  blame  me,  ef  she  knew 
I  loved  her  that  way/ 

"But  it  grew  harder  afterwards,  White  Rose,  when  you 
were  grateful  to  me,  in  your  pretty,  womanly  way,  an' 
treated  me  so  kindly  before  all  the  world,  an'  let  your  little 
boy  love  me,  an3  loved  me  yourself — I  knew  it — in  a  gentle, 
friendly  fashion.  O,  but  it  was  sweet!— but  not  sweet 
enough,  sometimes.  Ef  I  have  been  crazed  for  the  lack  o' 
love  in  my  younger  days,  I  have  been  crazed  with  love  since 
then.  There  have  been  days  when  I  could  neither  work  nor 
eat,  nights  when  I  could  not  sleep,  for  thinkin*  o'  what 
might  have  ]peen,  but  never  could  be;  times  when  I  have 
been  tempted  to  upset  my  boat  in  the  bay,  an'  never  try  to 
right  it.  But  when  I  had  almost  conquered  my  madness, 
that  you  might  never  know,  then  comes  this  Rumway,  with 
his  fine  looks,  an'  his  fine  house,  an'  his  fine  professions,  an3 


166  AN  OLD  FOOL. 

blots  me  out  entirely;  for  what  will  old  Joe  be  worth  to 
Madame  Kumway,  or  to  Madame  Eumway's  fine  husband?  " 

Mrs.  Smiley  sat  thoughtful  and  silent  a  long  time  after 
this  declaration  of  love,  that  gave  all  and  required  so  little. 
She  was  sorry  for  it;  but  since  it  was  so,  and  she  must  know 
it,  she  was  glad  that  she  had  heard  it  that  night.  She  could 
place  it  in  the  balance  with  that  other  declaration,  and  de 
cide  upon  their  relative  value  to  her;  for  she  saw,  as  he  did, 
that  the  two  were  incompatible — one  must  be  given  up. 

"It  is  late,"  she  said,  rising.  "  You  will  come  up  and 
take  breakfast  with  "Willie  and  me,  before  you  go  home  ? 
My  strawberries  are  in  their  prime." 

"I  thought  you  would  a-told  me  to  go,  an'  never  come 
back,"  he  said,  stepping  out  into  the  moonlight  with  the 
elastic  tread  of  twenty-five.  He  stopped  and  looked  back 
at  her,  with  a  beaming  countenance,  like  a  boy's. 

She  was  standing  on  the  step  abovfe  him,  looking  down 
at  him  with  a  pleasant  but  serious  expression.  "  I  am  go 
ing  to  trust  you  never  to  repeat  to  me  what  you  have  said 
to-night.  I  know  I  can  trust  you." 

"  So  be  it,  White  Kose,"  he  returned,  with  so  rapid  and 
involuntary  a  change  of  attitude,  voice,  and  expression, 
that  the  pang  of  his  hurt  pierced  her  heart  also.  But  "  I 
know  I  can  trust  you,"  she  repeated,  as  if  she  had  not  seen 
that  shrinking  from  the  blow.  "And  I  am  going  to  try  to 
make  your  life  a  little  pleasanter,  and  more  like  other  peo 
ple's.  When  you  are  dressed  up,  and  ordered  to  behave 
properly,  and  made  to  look  as  handsome  as  yon  can,  so  that 
ladies  shall  take  notice  of  you  and  flatter  you  with  their 
eyes  and  tongues,  and  .you  come  to  have  the -same  interest 
in  the  world  that  other  men  have— and  why  shouldn't  you? 
—then  your  imagination  will  not  be. running  away  with 
yon,  or  making  angels  out  of  common  little  persons  like 
myself — how  dreadfully  prosy  and  commonplace  you  have 
no  idea!  And  I  forbid  you  to  allow  Willie  to  stick  your 
hat  full  of  flowers,  when  you  go  fishing  together;  and  order 


AN  OLD  FOOL.  167 

you  to  make  that  young  impudence  respectful  to  you  on  all 
occasions — asserting  your  authority,  if  necessary.  And, 
lastly,  I  prefer  you  should  not  call  me  Madame  Rumway 
until  I  have  a  certified  and  legal  claim  to  the  title.  Good 
night." 

He  stood  bareheaded,  his  face  drooping  and  half-con 
cealed,  pulling  the  withered  flowers  out  of  his  hat.  SlowTly 
he  raised  it,  made  a  military  salute,  and  placed  it  on  his 
head.  "It  is  for  you  to  command  and  me  to  obey,"  he 
said. 

"Breakfast  as  seven  o'clock  precisely,"  called  out  the 
tuneful  voice  of  Mrs.  Smiley  after  him,  as  he  went  down 
the  garden-path  with  bent  head,  walking  more  like  an  old 
man  than  she  had  ever  seen  him.  Then  she  went  into  the 
house,  closed  it  carefully,  after  the  manner  of  lone  women, 
and  went  up  to  her  room.  But  delicionsly  cool  and  fra 
grant  as  was  the  tiny  chamber,  Mrs.  Smiley  could  not  sleep 
that  night.  Nor  did  Chillis  come  to  breakfast  next  morn 
ing. 

A  month  passed  away.  Work  was  suspended  on  Mr. 
Rumway's  house,  the  doors  and  windows  boarded  up,  and 
the  gate  locked.  Everybody  knew  it  could  mean  but  one 
thing — that  Mrs,  Smiley  had  refused  the  owner.  But  the 
handsome  captain  put  a  serene  face  upon  it,  and  kept  about 
his  business  industriously  and  like  a  gentleman.  The  fact 
that  he  did  not  return  to  his  wild  courses  was  remarked 
upon  as  something  hardly  to  be  credited,  but  greatly  to  his 
honor;  for  it  was  universally  conceded,  that  such  a  disap 
pointment  as  his  was  enough  to  drive  almost  any  man  to 
drink  who  had  indulged  in  it  previously;  such  is  the  gen 
erally  admitted  frailty  of  man's  moral  constitution. 

Toward  the  last  of  August,  Mrs.  Smiley  received  a  visit 
from  Chillis.  He  was  dressed  with  more  than  his  custom 
ary  regard  to  appearances,  and  looked  a  little  paler  and 
thinner  than  usual.  Otherwise,  he  was  just  the  same  as 
ever;  and,  with  no  questions  asked  or  answered  on  either 


168  AN  OLD  FOOL. 

side,  their  old  relations  were  re-established,  and  Willie 
was  rapturously  excited  with  the  prospect  of  more  Satur 
day  excursions.  Yet  there  was  this  difference  in  their 
manner  toward  each  other— that  he  now  seldom  addressed 
her  as  "White  Bose,"  and  never  as  "my  lovely  lady;" 
wrhile  it  was  she  who  made  graceful  iittle  compliments  to 
him,  and  was  always  gay  and  bright  in  his  company,  arid 
constantly  watchful  of  his  comfort  or  pleasure.  She  pre 
vailed  upon  him,  too,  to  make  calls  with  her  upon  other 
ladies;  and  gave  him  frequent  commissions  that  would 
bring  him  in  contact  with  a  variety  of  persons.  But  she 
could  not  help  seeing,  that  it  was  only  in  obedience  to  her 
wishes  that  he  made  calls,  or  mingled  with  the  town-people; 
and  when,  one  evening,  returning  together  from  a  visit 
where  he  had  been  very  much  patronized,  he  had  remarked, 
with  a  shrug  and  smile  of  self-contempt,  "It  is  no  use, 
Mrs.  Smiley— oil  an'  water  won't  mix,"  she  had  given  it  up, 
and  never  more  interfered  with  his  old  habits. 

So  the  summer  passed,  and  winter  came  again,  with  its 
long  rains,  dark  days,  and  sad  associations.  Although 
Mrs.  Smiley  was  not  at  all  a  "  weakly  woman,"  constant 
effort  and  care,  and  the  absence  of  anything  very  nattering 
in  her  future,  or  inspiring  in  her  present,  wore  upon  her, 
exhausting  her  vitality  too  rapidly  for  perfect  health,  as 
the  constantly  increasing  delicacy  of  her  appearance  testi 
fied.  In  truth,  when  the  spring  opened,  she  found  herself 
so  languid  and  depressed  as  to  be  hardly  able  to  teach,  in 
addition  to  her  house-work.  Then  it  was  that  the  gossips 
took  up  her  case  once  more,  and  declared,  with  consider 
able  unanimity,  that  Mrs.  Smiley  was  pining  for  the  hand 
some  Captain,  after  all,  and,  if  ever  she  had  refused  him, 
was  sorry  for  it — thus  revenging  themselves  upon  a  woman 
audacious  enough  to  refuse  a  man  many  others  would  have 
thought  "  good  enough  for  them/'  and  "  too  good  for  "  so 
unappreciative  a  person. 

With  the  first  bright  and  warm  weather,  Willie  went  to 


AN  OLD  FOOL.  169 

spend  a  week  with  his  friend,  and  Mrs.  Smiley  felt  forced 
to  take  a  vacation.  A  yachting-party  were  going  over  to 
the  cape,  and  Captain  Runaway  was  to  take  them  out  over 
the  bar.  Runaway  himself  sent  an  invitation  to  Mrs.  Smi 
ley — this  being  the  first  offer  of  amity  he  had  felt  able  to 
make  since  the  previous  July.  She  laughed  a  little,  to  her 
self,  when  the  note  came  (for  she  was  not  ignorant  of  the 
town-tattle — what  school-teacher  ever  is?)  and  sent  an  ac 
ceptance.  If  Captain  Runaway  were  half  as  courageous  as 
she,  the  chatterers  would  be  confounded,  she  promised  her 
self,  as  she  made  her  toilet  for  the  occasion — not  too  nice 
for  sea-water,  but  bright  and  pretty,  and  becoming,  as  her 
toilets  always  were. 

So  she  sailed  over  to  the  cape  with  the  "young  folks," 
and,  as  widows  can — particularly  widows  who  have  gossip 
to  avenge — was  more  charming  than  any  girl  of  them  all,  to 
others  beside  Captain  Runaway.  The  officers  of  the  garri 
son  vied  with  each  other  in  showing  her  attentions;  and 
the  light-house  keeper,  in  exhibiting  the  wonders  and  beau 
ties  of  the  place,  always,  if  unconsciously,  appealed  to  Mrs. 
Smiley  for  admiration  and  appreciation.  Yet  she  wore  her 
honors  modestly,  contriving  to  share  this  homage  with  some 
other,  and  never  accepting  it  as  all  meant  for  herself.  And 
toward  Captain  Runaway  her  manner  was  as  absolutely  free 
from  either  coquetry  or  awkwardness  as  that  of  the  most  in 
different  acquaintance .  Nobody,  seeing  her  perfectly  frank 
yet  quiet  and  cool  deportment  with  her  former  suitor,  could 
say,  without  falsehood,  that  she  in  any  way  concerned  her 
self  about  him;  and  if  he  had  heard  that  she  was  pining  for 
him,  he  was  probably  undeceived  during  that  excursion. 
Thus  she  came  home  feeling  that  she  had  vindicated  her 
self,  and  with  a  pretty  color  in  her  face  that  made  her  look 
as  girlish  as  any  young  lady  of  them  all. 

But,  if  Captain  Runaway  had  reopened  an  acquaintance 
with  Mrs.  Smiley  out  of  compassion  for  any  woes  she  might 
be  suffering  on  his  account,  or  out  of  a  design  to  show  how 


170  AN  OLD  FOOL. 

completely  he  was  master  of  himself,  or,  in  short,  for  any 
motive  whatever,  he  was  taken  in  his  own  devices,  and 
compelled  to  surrender  unconditionally.  Like  the  man  in 
Scripture,  out  of  whom  the  devils  were  cast  only  to  return, 
his  last  estate  was  worse  than  the  first,  as  he  was  soon  com 
pelled  to  acknowledge;  and  one  of  the  first  signs  of  this 
relapse  into  fatuity  was  the  resumption  of  work  on  the  un 
finished  house,  and  the  ornamentation  of  the  neglected 
grounds. 

"I  will  make  it  such  a  place  as  she  cannot  refuse,"  he 
said  to  himself,  more  or  less  hopefully.  "  She  will  have  to 
accept  the  house  and  grounds,  with  me  thrown  in.  And 
whatever  she  is  pining  for,  she  is  pining,  that  I  can  see.  It 
may  be  for  outdoor  air  and  recreation,  and  the  care  which 
a  husband  only  can  give  her.  If  it  be  that  she  can  take 
them  along  with  me." 

Thus  it  was,  that  when  Chillis  brought  Willie  home  from 
his  long  visit  to  the  woods  and  streams,  he  saw  the  work 
men  busy  on  the  Captain's  house.  He  heard,  too,  about 
the  excursion  to  the  cape,  and  the  inevitable  comments  up 
on  Rumway's  proceedings.  But  he  said  nothing  about  it  to 
Mrs.  Smiley,  though  he  spent  the  evening  in  the  snug  little 
parlor,  and  they  talked  together  of  many  things  personally 
interesting  to  both;  especially  about  Willie's  education  and 
profession  in  life. 

"  He  ought  to  go  to  college,"  said  his  mother.  "  I  wish 
him  to  be  a  scholarly  man,  whatever  profession  he  decides 
upon  afterward.  I  could  not  bear  that  he  should  not  have 
a  liberal  education." 

11  Yes,  Willie  must  be  a  gentleman/'  said  Chillis;  "  for 
his  mother's  sake  he  must  be  that." 

"But  how  to  provide  the  means  to  furnish  such  an  edu 
cation  as  he  ought  to  have,  is  what  puzzles  me,"  continued 
Mrs.  Smiley,  pausing  in  her  needle-work  to  study  that 
problem  more  closely,  and  gazing  absently  at  the  face  of 
her  guest.  "  Will  ten  years  more  of  school-teaching  do  it, 
I  wonder'?" 


AN  OLD  FOOL.  171 

"Ten  years  o'  school-teachin',  an'  house-work,  an'  sew- 
in'  !"  cried  he.  "  Yes,  long  before  that  you  will  be  under 
the  sod  o'  the  grave-yard  !  You  cannot  send  the  boy  to 
college." 

"  Who,  then?" —  smiling  at  his  vehemence. 

"/will." 

"You,  Mr.  Chillis  ?  I  thought "  She  checked  her 
self,  fearing  to  hurt  his  pride. 

"  You  thought  I  was  poor,  an'  so  I  am,  for  I  never  tried 
to  make  money.  I  don't  want  money.  But  there  is  land 
belongiii'  to  me  out  in  the  valley — five  or  six  hundred  acres 
— an'  land  is  growin'  more  valuable  every  year.  Ten  years 
from  now  I  reckon  mine  would  pay  a  boy's  schoolin'.  So 
you  needn't  work  yourself  to  death  for  that,  Mrs.  Smiley." 

The  tears  sprang  to  the  gray  eyes  which  were  turned 
upon  him  with  such  eloquent  looks.  "  It  is  like  you,"  she 
said,  in  a  broken  voice,  "  and  I  have  nothing  to  say." 

"  You  are  welcome  to  my  land,  White  Kose,  an'  there  is 
nothin'  to  be  said." 

Then  she  bent  her  head  over  her  sewing,  feeling,  indeed, 
that  there  was  little  use  for  words. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  asked,  breaking  a  protracted  silence, 
"that  you  have  got  to  give  up  teachin'?" 

"And  do  what  ?  I  might  take  to  gardening.  That  would 
be  better,  perhaps;  I  have  thought  about  it.'3 

"  Let  me  see  your  hands.  They  look  like  gardening  two 
rose-leaves !  Don't  it  make  me  wish  to  be  back  in  my  prime  ? 
Work  for  you !  Wouldn't  I  love  to  work  for  you  ?  " 

"And  do  you  not,  in  every  way  you  can?  Am  I  to  have 
no  pride  about  accepting  so  much  service?  What  a  poor 
creature  you  must  take  me  for,  Mr.  Chillis." 

"  There  is  uothin'  else  in  the  world  that  I  think  of;  nothin5 
else  that  I  live  for;  an'  after  all  it  is  so  little,  that  I  cannot 
save  you  from  spoilin'  your  prett}"  looks  with  care.  An'  you 
have  troubled  yourself  about  me,  too;  don't  think  I  haven't 
seen  it.  You  fret  your  lovely  soul  about  the  old  man's 


172  AN  OLD  FOOL. 

trouble,  when  you  can't  help  it — you,  nor  nobody.  An', 
after  all,  what  does  it  matter  about  'me?  7am  nothin',  and 
you.  are  everything-.  I  want  you  to  remember  that,  and  do 
everything  for  your  own  happiness  without  wastin''  a  thought 
on  me.  I  am  content  to  keep  my  distance,  ef  I  only  see 
you  happy  and  well  off.  Do  you  understand  me  ?  " 

Mrs.  Smiley  looked  up  with  a  suffused  face.  "  Mr.  Chil 
lis,"  she  answered,  "you  make  me  ashamed  of  myself  and 
iny  selfishness.  Let  us  never  refer  to  this  subject  again. 
Work  don't  hurt  me;  and  since  you  have  offered  to  provide 
for  Willie's  education,  you  have  lifted  half  my  burden. 
Why  should  you  stand  at  a  distance  to  see  me  happier  than 
I  am,  when  I  am  so  happy  as  to  have  such  a  friend  as  you? 
How  am  I  to  be  happier  by  your  being  at  a  distance,  who 
have  been  the  kindest  of  friends  ?  You  are  out  of  spirits 
this  evening,  and  you  talk  just  a  little — nonsense."  And 
she  smiled  at  him  in  a  sweetly  apologetic  fashion  for  the 
Word. 

"That  is  like  enough,"  he  returned  gravely;  "but  I 
want  you  to  remember  my  words,  foolish  or  not.  Don't 
let  me  stand  in  your  light — not  for  one  minute;  and  don't 
forgit  this:  that  Joe  Chillis  is  happy  when  he  sees  the 
White  Kose  bloomin'  and  bright." 

Contrary  to  his  command,  Mrs.  Smiley  did  endeavor  to 
forget  these  words  in  the  weeks  following,  when  the  old 
mountain-man  came  no  more  to  her  rose-embowrered  cot 
tage,  and  when  Captain  Eumway  invented  many  ingenious 
schemes  for  getting  the  pale  school-teacher  to  take  more 
recreation  and  fresh  air.  She  endeavored  to  forget  them, 
but  she  could  not,  though  her  resolve  to  ignore  them  was 
as  strong  as  it  ever  had  been  when  her  burdens  had  seemed 
lighter!  But  in  spite  of  her  resolve,  and  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  it  could  not  be  said  that  any  encouragement  had  been 
given  to  repeat  his  addresses,  Runaway  continued  to  work 
at  his  house  and  grounds  steadily,  and,  to  all  appearance, 
hopefully.  And  although  he  never  consulted  Mrs.  Smiley 


AN  OLD  FOOL.  173 

now  concerning  the  arrangement  of  either,  he  showed  that 
he  remembered  her  suggestions  of  the  year  before,  by  fol 
lowing  them  out  without  deviation. 

Thus  quietly,  without  incident,  the  June  days  slipped 
away,  and  the  perfect  July  weather  returned  once  more, 
when  there  was  always  a  chair  or  two  out  on  the  sunset 
porch  at  evening.  At  last  Chillis  re-appeared,  and  took  a 
seat  in  one  of  them,  quite  in  the  usual  way.  He  had  been 
away,  he  said,  attending  to  some  business. 

"  An'  I  have  fixed  that  matter  all  right  about  the  boy's 
schooling  he  added.  "The  papers  are  made  out  in  the 
clerk's  office,  an'  will  be  sent  to  you  as  soon  as  they  are 
recorded.  There  are  five  hundred  and  forty  acres,  which  you 
will  know  how  to  manage  better  than  I  can  tell  you.  You 
can  sell  by  and  by,  ef  you  can't  yet  the  money  out  of  it  any 
other  way.  The  taxes  won't  be  much,  the  land  being  un 
improved." 

"You  do  not  mean  that  you  have  deeded  all  your  land  to 
Willie?"  asked  Mrs.  Smiley.  "I  protest  against  it:  he 
must  not  have  it!  Would  you  let  us  rob  you,"  she  asked 
wonderingly.  "What  are  you  to  do,  by  and  by,  as  you 
say?  " 

"  Me?  I  shall  do  well  enough.  Money  is  o'  no  use  to 
me.  But  ef  I  should  want  a  meal  or  a  blanket  that  I 
couldn't  get,  the  boy  wouldn't  see  me  want  them  long. 
Ef  he  forgot  old  Joe  Chillis,  his  mother  wouldn't,  I 
reckon." 

"You  pay  too  high  a  price  for  our  remembrance,  Mr. 
Chillis;  we  are  not  worth  it.  But  why  do  you  talk  of  for 
getting?  You  are  not  going  away  from  us?" 

"Yes;  I  am  goin'  to  start  to-morrow  for  my  old  stampin' 
ground,  east  o'  the  mountains.  My  only  livin'  son  is  over 
there,  somewhar.  He  don't  amount  to  much — the  Indian 
in  him  is  too  strong;  but,  like  enough,  he  will  be  glad  to 
see  his  father  afore  I  die.  An'  I  want  to  git  away  from 
here." 


174  AN  OLD  FOOL. 

l{  You  will  come  back  ?  Promise  me  you  will  come  "back  ?  " 
For  something  in  his  voice,  and  his  settled  expression  of 
melancholy  and  renunciation,  made  her  fear  he  was  taking- 
tins  step  for  a  reason  that  could  not  be  named  between' 
them. 

"  It  is  likely,"  he  said;  "  but  ef  I  come  or  no,  don't  fret 
about  me.  Just  remember  this  that  I  am  tellin'  you  now. 
The  day  I  first  saw  you  was  the  most  fortunate  day  of  my  life. 
Ef  I  hadn't  a-met  you,  I  should  have  died  as  I  had  lived — 
like  a  creature  without  a  soul.  An'  now  I  have  a  soul,  in 
you.  An'  when  I  come  to  die,  as  I  shall  before  many 
years,  I  shall  die  happy,  thinkin'  how  my  old  hands  had 
served  the  sweetest  woman  under  heaven,  and  how  they 
had  been  touched  by  hers  so  kindly,  many  a  time,  when 
she  condescended  to  serve  me." 

"What  could  she  say  to  a  charge  like  this?  Yet  say  some 
thing  she  must,  and  so  she  answered,  that  he  thought  too 
highly  of  her,  who  was  no  better  than  other  women;  but, 
that,  since  in  his  great  singleness  of  heart,  he  did  her  this 
honor,  to  set  her  above  all  the  world,  she  could  only  be 
humbly  grateful,  and  wish  really  to  be  what  in  his  vivid  im 
agination  she  seemed  to  him.  Then  she  turned  the  talk 
upon  less  personal  topics,  and  Willie  was  called  and  in 
formed  of  the  loss  he  was  about  to  sustain;  upon  which 
there  was  a  great  deal  of  childish  questioning,  and  boyish 
regret  for  the  good  times  no  more  to  be  that  summer. 

"I  should  like  to  take  care  of  your  boat,"  said  he — "your 
hunting-boat,  I  mean.  If  I  had  it  over  here,  I  would  take 
mamma  down  to  it  every  Saturday,  and  she  could  sew  and 
do  everything  there,  just  as  she  does  at  home;  and  it  would 
be  gay,  now,  wouldn't  it?" 

"  The  old  boat  is  sold,  my  boy;  that  an'  the  row-boat,  and 
the  pony,  too.  You'll  have  to  wait  till  I  come  back  for 
huntin',  and  fishin',  and  ridhi'." 

Then  Mrs.  Smiley  knew  almost  certainly  that  this  visit  was 
the  last  she  would  ever  receive  from  Joe  Chillis,  and, 


^t^  OLD  FOOL.  175 

though  she  tried  hard  to  seem  unaffected  by  the  parting, 
and  to  talk  of  his  return  hopefully,  the  effort  proved  abor 
tive,  and  conversation  flagged.  Still  he  sat  there  silent  and 
nearly  motionless  through  the  whole  evening,  thinking 
what  thoughts  she  guessed  only  too  well.  With  a  great 
sigh,  at  last  he  rose  to  go. 

"  You  will  be  sure  to  write  at  the  end  of  your  journey, 
and  let  us  know  how  you  find  things  there,  and  when  you 
are  coming  back  ?  " 

"I  will  write/'  said  he;  "an5  I  want  you  to  write  back 
and  tell  me  that  you  remember  what  I  advised  you  some 
time  ago."  He  took  her  hands,  folded  them  in  his  own, 
kissed  them  reverently,  and  turned  away. 

Mrs.  Smiley  wratched  him  going  down  the  garden-walk, 
as  she  had  watched  him  a  year  before,  and  noted  how  slow 
and  uncertain  his  steps  had  grown  since  then.  At  the  gate 
he  turned  and  waved  his  hand,  and  she  in  turn  fluttered 
her  little  white  handkerchief.  Then  she  sat  down  with  the 
handkerchief  over  her  head,  and  sobbed  for  full  five 
minutes. 

"There  are  things  in  life  one  cannot  comprehend,"  she 
muttered  to  herself,  "things  we  cannot  dare  to  meddle 
with  or  try  to  alter;  Providences,  I  suppose,  they  are.  If 
God  had  made  a  man  like  that  for  me,  of  my  own  age,  and 
given  him  opportunities  suited  to  his  capacities,  and  he  had 
loved  me  as  this  man  loves,  what  a  life  ours  would  have 
been!" 

The  summer  weather  and  bracing  north-west  bieezes 
from  the  ocean  renewed,  in  a  measure,  Mrs.  Smiley's  health, 
and  restored  her  cheerful  spirits;  and,  if  she  missed  her  old 
friend,  she  kept  silent  about  it,  as  she  did  about  most 
things  that  concerned  herself.  To  Willie's  questioning  she 
gave  those  evasive  replies  children  are  used  to  receive;  but 
she  frequently  told  him,  in  talks  about  his  future,  that  Mr. 
Chillis  had  promised  to  send  him  to  college,  and  that  as 
long  as  he  lived  he  must  love  and  respect  so  generous  a 


176  AN  OLD  FOOL. 

friend.  "And,  "Willie,"  she  never  failed  to  add,  "if  ever 
you  see  an  old  man  who  is  in  need  of  anything;  food,  or 
clothes,  or  shelter;  be  very  sure  that  you  furnish  them,  as 
far  as  you  are  able."  She  was  teaching  him  to  pay  his 
debt:  "for,  inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  the  least  of 
these,"  he  had  done  it  unto  his  benefactor. 

September  came,  and  yet  no  news  had  arrived  from 
beyond  the  mountains.  Captain  Runaway's  house  was 
finished  up  to  the  last  touch  of  varnish.  The  lawn,  and 
the  shrubbery,  and  fence  were  all  just  as  they  should  be;  yet, 
so  far  as  anybody  knew,  no  mistress  had  been  provided  for 
them,  when,  one  warm  and  hazy  afternoon,  Mrs.  Smiley 
received  an  invitation  to  look  at  the  completed  mansion, 
and  pass  her  judgment  upon  it. 

"  I  am  going  to  furnish  it  in  good  style,"  said  its  master, 
rather  vauntingly,  Mrs.  Smiley  thought,  "and  I  hoped  you 
would  be  so  good  as  to  give  me  your  assistance  in  making 
out  a  list  of  the  articles  required  to  fit  the  house  up  perfectly, 
from  parlor  to  kitchen." 

"  Any  lady  can  furnish  a  list  of  articles  for  each  room, 
Mi"  Runaway,  more  or  less  costly,  as  you  may  order;  but 
only  the  lady  who  is  to  live  in  the  house  can  tell  you  what 
will  please  her;"  and  she  smiled  the  very  shadow  of  a  supe 
rior  smile. 

Mr.  Rumway  had  foolishly  thought  to  get  his  house  fur 
nished  according  to  Mrs.  Smiley's  taste,  and  now  found  he 
should  have  to  consult  Mrs.  Rumway's,  present  or  prospect 
ive,  and  the  discovery  annoyed  him.  Yet,  why  should  he 
be  annoyed  ?  Was  not  the  very  opportunity  presented  that 
he  had  desired,  of  renewing  his  proposal  to  her  to  take  the 
establishment  in  charge?  So,  although  it  compelled  him  to 
change  his  programme,  he  accepted  the  situation,  and  seized 
the  tide  at  flood. 

"  It  is  that  lady — the  one  I  entreat  to  come  and  live  in 
it — whose  wishes  I  now  consult.  Once  more  will  you 
come  ?" 


AN  OLD  FOOL.  177 

Mrs.  Smiley,  though  persistently  looking  aside,  had  caught 
the  eloquent  glance  of  the  Captain's  dark  eyes,  and  some 
thing  of  the  warmth  of  his  face  was  reflected  in  her  own. 
But  she  remained  silent,  looking  at  the  distant  highlands, 
without  seeing  them. 

"You  must  have  seen,"  he  continued,  "that  notwithstand 
ing  your  former  answer,  I  have  been  bold  enough  to  hope 
you  might  change  your  mind;  for,  in  everything  I  have 
done  here,  I  have  tried  to  follow  your  expressed  wishes.  I 
should  in  all  else  strive  to  make  you  as  happy  as  by  accept 
ing  this  home  you  would  make  me.  You  do  not  answer; 
shall  I  say  it  is  'yes?'  "  He  bent  so  close  that  his  dark, 
half-curling  mop  of  hair  just  brushed  her  golden  braids, 
and  gave  her  a  little  shock  like  electricity,  making  her  start 
away  with  a  blush. 

'  Will  you  give  me  time  to  decide  upon  my  answer,  Mr. 
Runaway  ?" 

"You  asked  for  time  before,"  he  replied,  in  an  agitated 
voice,  "and,  after  making  me  suffer  a  week  of  suspense, 
refused  me." 

"I  know  it,"  she  said  simply,  "and  I  was  sorry  I  had 
asked  it;  but  my  reasons  are  even  more  imperative  than 
they  were  then  for  wishing  to  delay.  I  want  to  decide 
right,  at  last,"  she  added,  with  a  faint  attempt  at  a  smile. 

'That  will  be  right  which  accords  with  your  feelings, 
and  certainly  you  can  tell  me  now  what  they  are — whether 
you  find  me  the  least  bit  lovable  or  not." 

The  gray  eyes  flashed  a  look  up  into  the  dark  eyes,  half 
of  mirth  and  half  of  real  inquiry.  "I  think  one  might 
learn  to  endure  you,  Mr.  Ruin  way,"  she  answered,  de 
murely.  "But" — changing  her  manner — "lean  not  tell 
you  whether  or  not  I  can  marry  you,  until — until — well,'' 
she  concluded  desperately—"  it  may  be  a  clay,  or  a  week,  or 
a  month.  There  is  something  to  be  decided,  and  until  it  is 
decided,  I  can  not  give  an  answer." 

Captain  Runaway  looked  very  rebellious. 
12 


178  AN  OLD  FOOL. 

"I  do  not  ask  you  to  wait,  Mr.  Rum  way,"  said  Mrs. 
Smiley,  tormentiugly.  ' '  Your  house  need  riot  be  long  with 
out  a  mistress." 

"  Of  course,  I  must  wait,  if  you  give  me  the  least  ground 
of  hope.  This  place  was  made  for  you,  and  no  other  woman 
shall  ever  come  into  it  as  my  wife — that  I  swear.  If  you 
will  not  have  me,  I  will  sell  it,  and  live  a  bachelor." 

Mrs.  Smiley  laughed  softly  and  tunefully.  "Perhaps 
you  would  prefer  to  limit  your  endurance,  and  tell  me  how 
long  you  will  allow  me  to  deliberate  before  you  sell  and  re 
tire  to  bachelorhood?" 

"You  know  very  well,"  he  returned,  ruefully,  "that  I 
shall  always  be  hoping  against  all  reason  that  the  wished- 
for  answer  was  coming  at  last." 

"  Then  we  will  say  no  more  about  it  at  present." 

"And  I  may  come   occasionally  to  learn  whether  that 


'something'  has  been  decided?" 


"Yes,  if  you  have  the  patience  for  it.  But,  I  warn 
you,  there  is  a  chance  of  my  having  to  say  'No.'" 

"  If  there  is  only  a  chance  of  your  having  to  say  '  No,'  I 
think  I  may  incur  the  risk,"  said  Rum  way,  with  a  sudden 
accession  of  hopefulness;  and,  as  they  walked  home  to 
gether  once  more,  the  gossips  pronounced  it  an  engage 
ment.  The  Captain  himself  felt  that  it  was,  although, 
when  he  reviewed  the  conversation,  he  discovered  that  he 
founded  his  impression  upon  that  one  glance  of  the  gray 
eyes,  rather  than  upon  anything  that  had  been  said.  And 
Mrs.  Smiley  put  the  matter  out  of  mind  as  much  as  pos 
sible,  and  waited. 

One  day,  about  the  last  of  the  month,  a  letter  came  to 
her  from  over  the  mountains.  It  ran  in  this  wise : 

"Mr  LOVELY  LADY:  I  am  once  more  among  the  familyar 
seanes  of  40  year  ago.  My  son  is  hear,  an'  about  as  I  ex 
pected.  I  had  rather  be  back  atClatsop,  with  the  old  bote; 
but,  owin'  to  circumstances  I  can't  controll,  think  it  better 
to  end  my  dais  on  this  side  ov  the  mountains.  You  need 


AN  OLD  FOOL.  179 

not  look  for  me  to  come  back,  but  I  send  you  an'  the  boy 
my  best  love,  an'  hope  3^011  hav  done  as  I  advised. 
"Yours,  faithfully,  til  deth, 

"JoE  CHILLIS." 

Soon  after  the  receipt  of  this  letter,  Captain  Runaway 
called  to  inquire  concerning  the  settlement  of  the  matter 
on  which  his  marriage  depended.  That  evening  he  staid 
later  than  usual,  and,  in  a  long  confidential  talk  which  he 
had  with  Mrs.  Smiley,  learned  that  there  was  a  condition 
attached  to  the  consummation  of  his  wishes,  which  required 
his  recognition  of  the  claims  of  "poor  old  Joe"  to  be  con 
sidered  a  friend  of  the  family.  To  do  him  justice,  he 
yielded  the  point  more  gracefully  than,  from  his  conscious 
ness  of  his  own  position,  could  have  been  expected. 

The  next  day,  Mrs.  Smiley  wrote  as  follows: 

"DEAR  MR.  CHILLIS:  I  shall  move  into  the  new  house 
about  the  last  of  October,  according  to  your  advice.  We — 
that  is,  myself,  and  Willie,  and  the  present  owner  of  the 
house—  shall  be  delighted  if  you  will  come  and  stay  with 
us.  But  if  you  decide  to  remain  with  your  son,  believe 
that  we  think  of  you  very  often  and  very  affectionately,  and 
wish  you  every  possible  happiness.  R.  agrees  with  me 
that  the  land  ought  to  be  deeded  back  to  you;  and  /think 
you  had  best  return  and  get  the  benefit  of  it.  It  would 
make  you  very  comfortable  for  life,  properly  managed,  and 
about  that  we  might  help  you.  Please  write  and  let  us 
know  what  to  do  about  it. 

"  Yours  affectionately, 

"  ANNIE  SMILEY." 

No  reply  ever  came  to  this  letter;  and,  as  it  was  written 
ten  years  ago,  Mrs.  Rumway  has  ceased  to  expect  any. 
Willie  is  about  to  enter  College. 


180  HOW  JACK  HASTINGS  SOLD  HIS  MINE. 


HOW  JACK  HASTINGS  SOLD  HIS  MINE. 

THE  passenger  train  from  the  East  came  thundering 
down  the  head  of  the  Humboldt  Yalley,  just  as  morn 
ing  brightened  over  the  earth — refreshing  eyes  wearied  with 
yesterday's  mountains  and  canons,  by  a  vision  of  green 
willows  and  ash  trees,  a  stream  that  was  not  a  torrent,  and 
a  stretch  of  grassy  country. 

Among  the  faces  oftenest  turned  to  the  flitting  views  was 
that  of  a  young,  gracefully-formed,  neatly-dressed,  deli 
cate-looking  woman.  The  large  brown  eyes  often  returned 
from  gazing  at  the  landscape,  to  scan  with  seriousness  some 
memoranda  she  held  in  her  hand.  "Arrive  at  Elko  at  eight 
o'clock  A.M."  said  the  memorandum.  Consulting  a  tiny 
watch,  whose  hands  pointed  to  ten  minutes  of  eight,  the 
lady  began  making  those  little  preparations  which  betoken 
the  journey's  end  at  hand. 

"What  a  strange  looking  place  it  is!"  she  thought,  as 
the  motley  collection  of  board  shanties  and  canvas  houses 
came  in  sight; — for  the  famous  Chloride  District  had  been 
discovered  but  a  few  months  before,  and  the  Pacific  Rail 
road  was  only  four  weeks  open.  "  I  wish  Jack  had  come 
to  meet  me!  I'm  sure  I  don't  see  how  I  am  to  find  the 
stage  agent  to  give  him  Jack's  letter.  What  a  number  of 
people!" 

This  mental  ejaculation  was  called  forth  by  the  sight  of 
the  long  platform  in  front  of  the  eating-house,  crowded 
with  a  surging  mass  of  humanity  just  issuing  from  the  din 
ing-room.  They  were  the  passengers  of  the  eastward- 
bound  train,  ready  to  rush  headlong  for  the  cars  when  the 
momently-expected  "  All  aboard!"  should  be  shouted  at 
them  by  the  conductor.  Into  this  crowd  the  freshly-ar 
rived  passengers  of  the  westward-bound  train  were  a  mo- 


HOW  JACK  HASTINGS  SOLD  HIS  MINE.  181 

ment  after  ejected — each  eyeing  the  other  with  a  natural 
and  pardonable  interest. 

The  brown-eyed,  graceful  young  lady  conducted  herself 
in  a  very  business-like  manner — presenting  the  checks  for 
her  baggage;  inquiring  out  the  office  of  Wells,  Fargo  & 
Co.,  and  handing  in  her  letter,  all  in  the  briefest  possible 
time.  Having  secured  a  seat  in  a  coach  to  Chloride  Hill, 
with  the  promise  of  the  agent  to  call  for  her  when  the  time 
for  departure  arrived,  the  lady  repaired  to  the  dining-room 
just  in  time  to  see  her  acquaintances  of  the  train  departing. 
Sitting  down  alone  to  a  hastily-cooked  and  underdone  re 
past,  she  was  about  finishing  a  cup  of  bitter  black  coffee 
with  a  little  shudder  of  disgust,  when  a  gentleman  seated 
himself  opposite  her  at  table.  The  glance  the  stranger 
cast  in  her  direction  was  rather  a  lingering  one;  then  he 
ordered  his  breakfast  and  ate  it.  Meanwhile  the  lady  re 
tired  to  the  ladies'  sitting-room. 

After  an  hour  of  waiting,  one,  two,  three,  coaches  rolled 
past  the  door,  and  the  lady  began  to  fear  she  had  been  for 
gotten,  when  the  polite  agent  appeared  to  notify  "Mrs. 
Hastings"  that  "the  stage  was  ready."  This  was  Mrs. 
Alice  Hastings,  then — wife  of  Mr.  Jack  Hastings,  of  Deep 
Canon,  Chloride  District.  The  agent  thought  Mr.  Hast 
ings  had  a  very  pretty  wife,  and  expressed  his  opinion  in 
his  manner,  as  men  will. 

"When,  just  before  starting,  there  entered  three  of  the 
roughest-looking  men  she  had  ever  encountered,  Mrs.  Hast 
ings  began  to  fear  that  in  his  zeal  to  obey  instructions,  the 
agent  had  exceeded  them,  and  in  packing  the  first  three 
coaches  with  first-comers,  had  left  this  one  to  catch  up  the 
fag  end  of  travel.  If  the  first  impression,  gained  from 
sight,  had  made  her  shrink  a  little,  what  was  her  dismay 
when,  at  the  end  of  ten  minutes,  one  of  her  fellow-travel 
ers — the  only  American  of  the  three — produced  a  bottle  of 
brandy,  which,  having  offered  it  first  to  her,  he  passed  to 
the  bullet-headed  Irishman  and  very  shabby  Jew:  repeat 
ing  the  courtesy  once  in  twenty  minutes  for  several  times. 


182  HOW  JACK  HASTINGS  SOLD  HIS  MINE. 

Mrs.  Hastings  was  a  brave  sort  of  woman,  where  courage 
was  needful;  and  she  now  began  to  consider  the  case  in 
hand  with  what  coolness  she  could  command.  One  hun 
dred  and  thirty  miles — eighteen  or  twenty  hours  of  such 
companionship — with  no  chance  of  change  or  intermission; 
a  wilderness  country  to  travel  over,  and  all  the  other  coach 
es  a  long  way  ahead.  The  dainty  denizen  of  a  city  home, 
shuddering  inwardly,  showed  outwardly  a  serene  counte 
nance.  Her  American  friend,  with  wicked  black  eyes  and 
a  jolly  and  reckless  style  of  carrying  himself,  continued  to 
offer  brandy  at  short  intervals. 

"Best  take  some,  Madame,"  said  he;  "this  dust  will 
choke  you  if  you  don't/' 

"Thanks,"  returned  the  lady,  with  her  sweetest  smile, 
"I  could  not  drink  brandy.  I  have  wine  in  my  traveling- 
basket,  should  I  need  it;  but  much  prefer  water." 

At  the  next  station,  although  hardly  four  minutes  were 
lost  in  changing  horses,  the  men  procured  for  her  a  cup  of 
water.  Mrs.  Hastings'  thanks  were  frank  and  cordial.  She 
even  carefully  opened  a  conversation  about  the  country 
they  were  passing  over,  and  contrived  to  get  them  to  ask  a 
question  or  two  about  herself.  When  they  learned  that  she 
had  come  all  the  way  from  New  York  on  the  newly-opened 
railroad,  their  interest  was  at  its  height;  and  when  they 
heard  that  she  was  going  to  join  her  husband  in  the  Chlor 
ide  District,  their  sympathy  was  thoroughly  enlisted. 

''Wonderful — such  a  journey!  How  she  could  be  six 
days  on  the  cars,  and  yet  able  to  take  such  a  stage-ride  as 
this,  is  astonishing." 

Such  were  the  American's  comments.  The  Jew  thought 
of  the  waiting  husband — for  your  Israelite  is  a  man  of  do 
mestic  arid  family  affections.  "  Her  husband  looking  f oi 
lier,  and  she  behind  time!  How  troubled  he  must  be! 
Didn't  he  know  how  it  was  ?  Wasn't  his  wife  gone  away  on 
a  visit  once,  and  didn't  write;  and  he  a  running  to  the  ex 
press  office  every  morning  and  evening  for  a  letter,  and  get- 


HOW  JACK  HASTINGS  SOLD  HIS  MINE.  183 

ting  so  anxious  as  to  telegraph  ?  Such  an  expense  and  loss 
of  time! — and  all  because  he  felt  so  uneasy  about  his  wife!" 

The  bullet-headed  young  Irishman  said  nothing.  He 
was  about  half  asleep  from  brandy  and  last  night's  travel; 
too  stupid  to  know  that  his  hat  had  flown  out  of  the  window, 
and  was  bowling  along  in  the  wind  and  dust  half  a  mile 
behind — all  the  better  for  his  head,  which  looked  at  a  red 
heat  now. 

The  lady  had  lifted  the  rude  men  up  to  her  level,  when 
directly  they  were  ashamed  of  their  brandy  and  other  vices, 
and  began  to  show  instinctive  traits  of  gentlemen.  By  the 
time  they  arrived  at  the  dinner  station,  where  half  an  hour 
was  allowed  for  food  and  rest  out  of  the  eighteen  or  twenty, 
she  had  at  least  two  humble  servitors,  who  showed  great 
concern  for  her  comfort. 

The  day  began  to  wane.  They  had  traveled  continuously 
over  a  long  stretch  of  plain  between  two  mountain  ranges, 
over  a  country  entirely  uninhabited  except  by  the  stage 
company's  employees,  who  kept  the  stations  and  tended 
the  stock.  This  lone  woman  had  seen  but  one  other  woman 
on  the  road.  Plenty  of  teams — great  "  prairie  schooners," 
loaded  with  every  conceivable  thing  for  supplying  the 
wants  of  an  isolated  non-producing  community,  and  drawn 
by  ten  or  fourteen  mules — had  been  passed  through  the 
day. 

As  night  fell,  Mrs.  Hastings  saw  what  she  had  never  be 
fore  seen  or  imagined — the  camps  of  these  teamsters  by  the 
roadside;  horses  and  mules  staked,  or  tied  to  the  wagons; 
the  men  lying  prone  upon  the  earth,  wrapped  in  blankets, 
their  dust-blackened  faces  turned  up  to  the  frosty  twinkling 
stars.  Did  people  really  live  in  that  way? — how  many  su 
perfluous  things  were  there  in  a  city! 

The  night  was  moonless  and  clear,  and  cold  as  at  that 
altitude  they  always  are.  Sleep,  from  the  roughness  of  the 
road,  was  impossible.  Her  companions  dozed,  and  woke 
with  exclamations  when  the  heavy  lurchings  of  the  coach 


184  HO  W  JACK  HASTINGS  SOLD  HIS  MINE. 

disturbed  them  too  roughly.  Mrs.  Hastings  never  closed 
her  eyes.  When  morning  dawned,  they  were  on  the  top 
of  a  range  of  mountains,  like  those  that  had  been  in  sight 
all  the  day  before.  Down  these  heights  they  rattled  away, 
and.  at  four  in  the  morning  entered  the  streets  of  Chloride 
Hill — a  city  of  board  and  canvas  houses.  Arrived  at  the 
stage  office,  the  lady  looked  penetratingly  into  the  crowd  of 
men  always  waiting  for  the  stages,  but  saw  no  face  she 
recognized.  Yes,  one — and  that  the  face  of  the  gentleman 
who  sat  down  opposite  her  at  table  in  Elko. 

"  Permit  me,"  he  said;  "I  think  you  inquired  for  Mr. 
Hastings  ?  " 

"  I  did;  he*  is  my  husband.  I  expected  to  find  him  here," 
she  replied,  feeling  that  sense  of  injury  and  desire  to  cry 
which  tired  women  feel,  jostled  about  in  a  crowd  of  men. 

Leaving  her  a  moment  to  say  something  to  an  employee 
of  the  office,  the  stranger  returned  immediately,  saying  to 
the  man:  "Take  this  lady  to  Mrs.  Robb's  boarding-house." 
Then  to  her:  "I  will  inquire  for  your  husband,  and  send 
him  to  you  if  he  is  in  town.  The  hack  does  not  go  over  to 
Deep  Canon  for  several  hours  yet.  Meanwhile  you  had 
better  take  some  rest.  You  must  be  greatly  fatigued." 

Fatigued!  her  head  swam  round  and  round;  and  she 
really  was  too  much  exhausted  to  feel  as  disappointed  as  she 
might  at  Jack's  non-appearance.  Much  relieved  by  the 
prospect  of  a  place  to  rest  in,  she  followed  the  man  sum 
moned  to  escort  her,  and  fifteen  minutes  after  was  sound 
asleep  on  a  sofa  of  the  boarding-house. 

Three  hours  of  sleep  and  a  partial  bath  did  milch  to  re 
store  tired  nature's  equilibrium;  and,  although  her  head 
still  felt  absurdly  light,  Mrs.  Hastings  enjoyed  the  really 
excellent  breakfast  provided  for  her,  wondering  how  such 
delicacies  ever  got  to  Chloride  Hill.  Breakfast  over,  and 
no  news  of  Jack,  the  time  began  to  drag  wearily.  She  was 
more  than  half  inclined  to  be  angry — only  relenting  when 
she  remembered  that  she  was  two  or  three  days  behind 


HOW  JACK  HASTINGS  SOLD  HIS  MINE.  185 

time,  and  of  course  Jack  could  not  know  when  to  expect 
her.  She  had  very  full  directions,  and  if  she  could  not 
find  her  way  to  Deep  Canon  she  was  a  goose,  that  was  all! 

So  she  sent  for  the  driver  of  the  hack,  told  him  to  get  her 
baggage  from  the  express  office;  and  started  for  Deep  Can 
on.  Who  should  she  find  in  the  hack  but  her  friend  of  the 
morning! 

"I  could  not  hear  of  your  husband,"  said  he;  "  but  you 
are  sure  to  find  him  at  home." 

Mrs.  Hastings  smiled  faintly,  and  hoped  she  should. 
Then  she  gave  her  thoughts  to  the  peculiar  scenery  of  the 
country,  and  to  the  sharpness  of  the  descent,  as  they  whirled 
rapidly  down  the  four  miles  of  canon  at  the  bottom  of  which 
was  the  town  of  that  name — another  one  of  those  places 
which  had  "come  up  as  a  flower"  in  a  morning.  She 
longed  to  ask  about  her  husband  and  his  "  home  ";  but  as 
there  were  several  persons  in  the  stage,  she  restrained  her 
anxiety,  and  said  never  a  word  until  they  stopped  before 
the  door  of  a  saloon  where  all  the  other  passengers  alighted. 
Then  she  told  the  driver  she  wanted  to  be  taken  to  Mr. 
Hastings'  house. 

He  didn't  know  where  that  was,  he  said,  but  would  in 
quire. 

Did  he  know  Dr.  Earle  ? 

"That's  him,  ma'am;"  pointing  out  her  friend  of  the 
morning. 

"  How  can  I  serve  you?"  he  asked,  raising  his  hat  po 
litely. 

Mrs.  Hastings  blushed  rosily,  between  vexation  at  Jack's 
invisibility  and  confusion  at  being  so  suddenly  confronted 
with  Dr.  Earle. 

"  Mr.  Hastings  instructed  me  to  inquire  of  you,  if  I  had 
any  difficulty  in  finding  him,"  she  said,  apologetically. 

"I  will  show  you  his  place  with  pleasure,"  returned  the 
Doctor  pleasantly;  and,  jumping  on  the  box,  proceeded  to 
direct  the  driver. 


186  HOW  JACK  HASTINGS  SOLD  HIS  MINE. 

Had  ladies  of  Mrs.  Hastings'  style  been  as  plenty  in  Deep 
Canon  as  in  New  York,  the  driver  would  have  grumbled  at 
the  no  road  he  had  to  follow  along  the  stony  side  of  a  hill 
and  among  the  stumps  of  mahogany  trees.  But  there  were 
few  like  her  in  that  mountain  town,  and  his  chivalry  com 
pelled  him  to  go  out  of  his  way  with  every  appearance  of 
cheerfulness.  Presently  the  stage  stopped  where  the  slop 
ing  ground  made  it  very  uncertain  how  long  it  could  main 
tain  its  balance  in  that  position;  and  the  voice  of  Dr.  Eaiie 
was  heard  saying  "  This  is  the  place." 

Mrs.  Hastings,  who  had  been  looking  out  for  some  sign 
of  home,  was  seized  with  a  doubt  of  the  credibility  of  her 
senses.  It  was  on  the  tip  of  her  tongue  to  say  "  This  must 
be  the  house  of  some  other  Mr.  Hastings,"  when  she  re 
membered  prudence,  and  said  nothing.  Getting  out  and 
going  towaid  the  house  to  inquire,  the  door  opened,  and  a 
man  in  a  rough  mining  suit  came  quickly  forward  to  meet 
her. 

"Alice!" 

"Jack!" 

Dr.  Eaiie  and  the  driver  studiously  looked  the  other  way 
while  salutations  were  exchanged  between  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Hastings.  When  they  again  ventured  a  look,  the  lady  had 
disappeared  within  the  cabin,  the  first  glimpse  of  which  had 
so  dismayed  her. 

That  afternoon,  Jack  initiated  Alice  into  the  mysteries  of 
cooking  by  an  open  fire,  and  expatiated  largely  on  the 
merits  of  his  outside  kitchen.  Alice  hinted  to  him  that  she 
was  accustomed  to  sleep  on  something  softer  than  a  board, 
and  the  two  went  together  to  a  store  to  purchase  materials 
out  of  which  to  make  a  mattrass. 

After  that,  for  two  or  three  weeks,  Mrs.  Hastings  was 
industriously  engaged  in  wondering  what  her  husband 
meant  when  he  wrote  that  he  had  built  a  house,  and  was 
getting  things  ready  to  receive  her.  Keason  or  romance  as 
she  might,  she  could  not  make  that  single  room  of  rough 


HOW  JACK  HASTINGS  SOLD  HIS  MINE.  187 

boards,  roofed  with  leaky  canvas  and  unfurnished  with  a 
single  comfort  of  life,  into  a  house  or  home.  At  last,  Jack 
seemed  to  guess  her  thoughts,  for  she  never  spoke  them. 

"If  I  could  sell  my  mine,"  he  then  often  said,  "  I  could 
fix  things  up." 

"If  you  sold  your  mine,  Jack,  you  would  go  back  to  New 
York,  and  then  there  would  be  no  need  of  fixing  up  this 
place. "  Alice  wanted  to  say  "  horrid "  place,  but  refrained. 
At  length,  from  uncongenial  air,  water,  food,  and  cir 
cumstances  in  general,  the  transplanted  flower  began  to 
droop.  The  great  heat  and  ratified  mountain  air  caused 
frantic  headaches,  aggravated  by  the  glare  which  came 
through  the  white  canvas  roof.  Then  came  the  sudden 
mountain  tempests,  when  the  rain  deluged  everything,  and 
it  was  hard  to  find  a  spot  to  stand  in  where  the  water  did 
not  drip  through.  She  grew  wild,  looking  forever  at  bare 
mountain  sides  simmering  in  the  sun  by  day,  and  at  night 
over  their  tops  up  to  the  piercing  stars.  A  constant  anxious 
fever  burnt  in  her  blood,  that  the  cold  night  air  could  not 
quench,  though  she  often  left  her  couch  to  let  it  blow  chilly 
over  her,  in  her  loose  night  robes.  Then  she  fell  really  ill. 

Sitting  by  her  bedside,  Jack  said:  "If  I  could  sell  my 
mine!"  And  she  had  answered,  "let  the  mine  go,  Jack, 
and  let  us  go  home.  Nothing  is  gained  by  stopping  in  this 
dreadful  place." 

Then  Mr.  Hastings  had  replied  to  her,  "I  have  no 
money,  Alice,  to  go  home  with,  not  a  cent.  I  borrowed  ten 
dollars  of  Earle  to-day  to  buy  some  fruit  for  you." 

That  was  the  last  straw  that  broke  the  camel's  back.  By 
night  Mrs.  Hastings  was  delirious,  and  Dr.  Earle  was 
called. 

"  She  has  a  nervous  fever,"  he  said,  "  and  needs  the  care- 
fullest  nursing." 

"  Which  she  cannot  have  in  this  cl — d  place,"  Mr.  Has 
tings  replied,  profanely. 

""Why  don't  you  try  to  get  something  to  do?"  asked 
Earle  of  the  sad-visaged  husband,  a  day  or  two  after. 


188  JK>W  JACK  HASTINGS  SOLD  HIS  MINE. 

"  "VYliatis  there  to  do?  Everything  is  flat;  there  is  neither 
business  nor  money  in  this  cursed  country.  I've  stayed 
here  trying  to  sell  my  mine,  until  I'm  dead  broke;  nothing 
to  live  on  here,  and  nothing1  to  get  out  with.  What  I'm  to 
do  with  my  wife  there,  I  don't  know.  Let  her  die,  per 
haps,  and  throw  her  bones  up  that  ravine  to  bleach  in  the 
sun.  God!  what  a  position  to  be  in!" 

"But  you  certainly  must  propose  to  do  something,  and 
that  speedily.  Couldn't  you  see  it  was  half  that  that 
brought  this  illness  on  your  wife;  the  inevitable  which  she 
saw  closing  down  upon  you?" 

"If  I  cannot  sellmy  mine  soon,  I'll  blow  out  my  brains, 
as  that  poor  German  did  last  week.  Alice  heard  the  report 
of  the  shot  which  killed  him,  and  I  think  it  hastened  on 
her  sickness." 

"  And  so  you  propose  to  treat  her  to  another  such  scene, 
and  put  an  end  to  her?"  said  Earle,  savagely. 

"  Better  so  than  to  let  her  starve,"  Jack  returned,  grow 
ing  pale  with  the  burden  of  possibilities  which  oppressed 
him.  "  How  the  devil  I  am  to  save  her  from  that  last,  I 
don't  know.  There  is  neither  business,  money,  nor  credit 
in.  this  infernal  town.  I've  been  everywhere  in  this  district, 
asking  for  a  situation  at  something,  and  cannot  get  airy- 
thing  better  than  digging  ground  on  the  new  road." 

"Even  that  might  be  better  than  starving,"  said  Dr. 
Earle. 

Jack  was  a  faithful  nurse;  Dr.  Earle  an  attentive  physi 
cian;  young  people  with  elastic  constitutions  die  hard:  so 
Alice  began  to  mend,  and  in  a  fortnight  was  convalescent. 
Jack  got  a  situation  in  a  quartz  mill  wrhere  the  Doctor  was 
part  owner. 

Left  all  day  alone  in  the  cabin,  Alice  began  staring  again 
at  the  dreary  mountains  whose  walls  inclosed  her  on  every 
side.  The  bright  scarlet  and  yellow  flowers  which  grew  out 
of  their  parched  soil  sometimes  tempted  her  to  a  brief  walk; 
but  the  lightness  of  the  air  fatigued  her,  and  she  did  not 
care  to  clamber  after  them. 


HOW  JACK  HASTINGS  SOLD  HIS  MINE.  189 

One  day,  being  lonely,  she  thought  to  please  Jack  by 
dressing  in  something  pretty  and  going  to  the  mill  to  see 
him.  So,  laying  aside  the  wrapper  which  she  had  worn  al 
most  constantly  lately,  she  robed  herself  in  a  delicate  linen 
lawn,  donned  a  coquettish  little  hat  and  parasol,  and  set 
out  for  the  mill,  a  mile  away.  Something  in  the  thought 
of  the  pleasant  surprise  it  would  be  to  Jack  gave  her  strength 
and  animation;  and  though  she  arrived  somewhat  out  of 
breath,  she  looked  as  dainty  and  fresh  as  a  rose,  and  Jack 
was  immensely  proud  and  flattered.  He  introduced  her  to 
the  head  of  the  firm,  showed  her  over  the  mill,  pointed  out 
to  her  the  mule-train  packing  wood  for  the  engine  fires,  got 
the  amalgamator  to  give  her  specimens,  and  in  every  way 
showed  his  delight. 

After  an  hour  or  so  she  thought  about  going  home;  but 
the  walk  home  looked  in  prospect  very  much  longer  than 
the  walk  to  the  mill.  In  truth,  it  wras  harder  by  reason  of 
being  up-hill.  But  opportunely,  as  it  seemed,  just  as  Jack 
was  seeing  her  off  the  door-stone  of  the  office,  Dr.  Earle 
drove  up,  and,  comprehending  the  situation,  offered  to  take 
Mrs.  Hastings  to  her  own  door  in  his  carriage,  if  she  would 
graciously  allow  him  five  minutes  to  see  the  head  man  in. 

When  they  were  seated  in  the  carriage,  a  rare  luxury  in 
Deep  Canon^  and  had  driven  a  half  mile  in  embarrassed 
silence — for  Mrs.  Hastings  somehow  felt  ashamed  of  her 
husband's  dependence  upon  this  man, — the  Doctor  spoke, 
and  what  he  said  was  this : 

"Your  life  is  very  uncongenial  to  you;  you  wish  to  es 
cape  from  it,  don't  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  wish  to  escape;  that  is  the  word  which  suits  my 
feeling — a  very  strange  feeling  it  is/3 

"  Describe  it,"  said  the  Doctor,  almost  eagerly. 

"  Ever  since  I  left  the  railroad,  in  the  midst  of  a  wilder 
ness  and  was  borne  for  so  many  hours  away  into  the  heart 
of  a  still  more  desert  wilderness,  my  consciousness  of  things 
has  been  very  much  confused.  I  can  only  with  difficulty 


190  HOW  JACK  HASTINGS  SOLD  HIS  MINE. 

realize  that  there  is  an}7  such  place  as  New  York;  and  San 
Francisco  is  a  fable.  The  world  seems  a  great  bare  mount 
ain  plane;  and  I  am  hanging  on  to  its  edge  by  my  finger 
tips,  ready  to  drop  away  into  space.  Can  you  account  for 
such  impressions?" 

"  Easily,  if  I  chose.     May  I  tell  you  something?" 

"What  is  it?" 

"  I've  half  a  mind  to  run  away  with  you." 

Now,  as  Dr.  Earle  was  a  rather  young  and  a  very  hand 
some  man,  had  been  very  kind,  and  was  now  looking  at  her 
with  eyes  actually  moistened  with  tears,  a  sudden  sense  of 
being  on  the  edge  of  a  pitfall  overcame  Mrs.  Hastings; 
and  she  turned  pale  and  red  alternately.  Yet,  with  the  in 
stinct  of  a  pure  woman,  to  avoid  recognizing  an  ugly 
thought,  she  answered  with  a  laugh  as  gay  as  she  could 
make  it. 

"  If  you  \vere  a  witch,  and  offered  me  half  of  your  broom 
stick  to  New  York,  I  don't  know  but  I  should  take  it; — 
that  is,  if  there  was  room  on  it  anywhere  for  Jack." 

"There  wouldn't  be,"  said  the  Doctor,  and  said  no 
more. 

The  old  fever  seemed  to  have  returned  that  afternoon. 
The  hills  glared  so  that  Mrs.  Hastings  closed  the  cabin 
door  to  shut  out  the  burning  vision.  The  ground-squirrels, 
thinking  from  the  silence  that  no  one  was  within,  ran  up 
the  mahogany  tree  at  the  side,  and  scampered  over  the 
canvas  roof  in  glee.  One,  more  intent  on  gain  than  the 
rest,  invaded  Jack's  outside  kitchen,  knocking  down  the 
tin  dishes  with  a  clang,  and  scattering  the  dirt  from  the 
turf  roof  over  the  flour-sack  and  the  two  white  plates. 
Every  sound  made  her  heart  beat  faster.  Afraid  of  the 
silence  and  loneliness  at  last,  she  reopened  the  door;  and 
then  a  rough-looking  man  came  to  the  entrance,  to  inquire 
if  there  were  any  silver  leads  up  the  ravine. 

Leads?  she  could  not  say:  prospectors  in  plenty  there 
were. 


HOW  JACK  HASTINGS  SOLD  HIS  MINE.  191 

Then  he  went  his  way,  having  satisfied  his  curiosity;  and 
the  door  was  closed  again.  Some  straggling  donkeys 
wandered  near,  which  were  mistaken  for  "Diggers;"  and 
dreading  their  glittering  eyes,  the  nervous  prisoner  drew 
the  curtain  over  the  one  little  sliding  window.  There  was 
nothing  to  read,  nothing  to  sew,  no  housekeeping  duties, 
because  no  house  to  keep;  she  was  glad  when  the  hour 
arrived  for  preparing  the  late  afternoon  meal. 

That  night  she  dreamed  that  she  was  a  skeleton  lying  up 
the  canon — the  sunshine  parching  her  naked  bones;  that 
Dr.  Earle  came  along  with  a  pack-train  going  to  the  mill, 
and  picking  her  up  carefully,  laid  her  on  top  of  a  bundle 
of  wood;  that  the  Mexican  driver  covered  her  up  with  a 
blanket,  which  so  smothered  her  that  she  awakened,  and 
started  up  gasping  for  breath.  The  feeling  of  suffocation 
continuing,  she  stole  softly  to  the  door,  and  opening  it,  let 
the  chilly  night  air  blow  over  her.  Most  persons  would 
have  found  Mr.  Hastings'  house  freely  ventilated,  but  some 
way  poor  Alice  found  it  hard  to  breathe  in  it. 

The  summer  was  passing;  times  grew,  if  possible,  harder 
than  before.  The  prospectors,  who  had  found  plenty  of 
"  leads,"  had  spent  their  "  bottom  dollar  "  in  opening  them 
up  and  in  waiting  for  purchasers,  and  were  going  back  to 
California  any  way  they  could.  The  capitalists  were  hold 
ing  off,  satisfied  that  in  the  end  all  the  valuable  mines 
would  fall  into  their  hands,  and  caring  nothing  how  fared 
the  brave  but  unlucky  discoverers.  In  fact,  they  overshot 
themselves,  and  made  hard  times  for  their  own  mills,  the 
miners  having  to  stop  getting  out  rock. 

Then  Jack  lost  his  situation.  Very  soon  food  began  to 
be  scarce  in  the  cabin  of  Mr.  Hastings.  Scanty  as  it  was, 
it  was  more  than  Alice  craved;  or  rather,  it  was  not  what 
she  craved.  If  she  ate  for  a  day  or  two,  for  the  next  two 
or  three  days  she  suffered  with  nausea  and  aversion  to  any 
thing  which  the  outside  kitchen  afforded.  Jack  seldom 
mentioned  his  mine  now,  and  looked  haggard  and  hope- 


192  HO  W  JACK  HASTINGS  SOLD  HIS  MINE. 

less.  The  conversation  between  her  husband  and  Dr. 
Earle,  recorded  elsewhere,  had  been  overheard  by  Alice, 
lying  half  conscious;  and  she  had  never  forgotten  the 
threat  about  blowing  out  his  brains  in  case  he  failed  to  sell 
his  mine.  Trifling  as  such  an  apprehension  may  appear  to 
another,  it  is  not  unlikely  that  it  had  its  effect  to  keep  up 
her  nervous  condition.  The  summer  was  going — was  gone. 
Mrs.  Hastings  had  not  met  Dr.  Earle  for  several  weeks; 
and,  despite  herself,  when  the  worst  fears  oppressed  her, 
her  first  impulse  was  to  turn  to  him.  It  had  always  seemed 
so  easy  for  him  to  do  what  he  liked  ! 

Perhaps  lie  was  growing  anxious  to  know  if  he  could 
give  the  thumb-screw  another  turn.  At  all  events,  he 
directed  his  steps  toward  Mr.  Hastings'  house  on  the  after 
noon  of  the  last  day  in  August.  Mrs.  Hastings  received 
him  at  the  threshold  and  offered  him  the  camp-stool — the 
only  chair  she  had — in  the  shade  outside  the  door;  at  the 
same  time  seating  herself  upon  the  door-step  with  the  same 
grace  as  if  it  had  been  a  silken  sofa. 

She  was  not  daintly  dressed  this  afternoon;  for  that  lux 
ury,  like  others,  calls  for  the  expenditure  of  a  certain  amount 
of  money,  and  money  Alice  had  not — not  even  enough  to 
pay  a  Chinaman  for  "doing  np  "  one  of  her  pretty  muslins. 
Neither  had  she  the  facilities  for  doing  them  herself,  had  she 
been  skilled  in  that  sort  of  labor;  for  even  to  do  your  own 
washing- and  ironing  pre-supposes  the  usual  conveniences  of 
a  laundry,  and  these  did  not  belong  to  the  furniture  of  the 
outside  kitchen.  She  had  not  worn  her  linen  lawn  since 
the  visit  to  the  mill.  The  dust  which  blewr  freely  through 
every  crack  of  the  shrunken  boards  precluded  such  extrav 
agance.  Thus  it  happened  that  a  soiled  cashmere  wrapper 
was  her  afternoon  wear.  She  had  faded  a  good  deal  since 
her  coming  to  Deep  Cafion;  but  still  looked  pretty  and 
graceful,  and  rather  too  spiritudk. 

The  Doctor  held  in  his  hand,  on  the  point  of  a  knife,  the 
flower  of  a  cactus  very  common  in  the  mountains,  which 


HOW  JACK  HASTINGS  SOLD  HIS  MINE.  193 

he  presented  her,  warning  her  at  the  same  time  against  its 
needle-like  thorns. 

"  It  makes  me  sick,"  said  Alice  hastily,  throwing  it  away. 
"  It  is  the  color  of  gold,  which  I  want  so  much;  and  of  the 
sunshine,  which  I  hate  so." 

"  I  brought  it  to  you  to  show  you  the  little  emerald  bee 
that  is  always  to  be  found  in  one:  it  is  wonderously  beau 
tiful, — a  living  gem,  is  it  not?" 

"Yes,  I  know,"  Alice  said,  "I  admired  the  first  one  I 
saw;  but  I  admire  nothing  any  longer — nothing  at  least 
which  surrounds  me  here." 

"  I  understand  that,  of  course,"  returned  the  Doctor. 
"It  is  because  your  health  is  failing  you — because  the  air 
disagrees  with  you." 

"  And  because  my  husband  is  so  unfortunate.  If  he 
could  only  get  away  from  here — and  I!"  The  vanity  of 
such  a  supposition,  in  their  present  circumstances,  brought 
the  tears  to  her  eyes  and  a  quiver  about  her  mouth. 

' '  Why  did  you  ever  come  here !  Why  did  he  ever  ask 
you  to  come; — how  dared  he?"  demanded  the  Doctor,  set 
ting  his  teeth  together. 

"  That  is  a  strange  question,  Doctor!"  Mrs.  Hastings 
answered  with  dignity,  lifting  her  head  like  an  antelope. 
"  My  husband  was  deceived  by  the  same  hopes  which  have 
ruined  others.  If  I  suffer,  it  is  because  we  are  both  un 
fortunate." 

"  What  will  he  do  next?"  questioned  the  Doctor  curtly. 
The  cruel  meaning  caused  the  blood  to  forsake  her  cheeks. 

"I  cannot  tell  what  he  will  do,"  —  her  brief  answer 
rounded  by  an  expressive  silence. 

"  You  might  help  him:  shall  I  point  out  the  way  to  you?" 
— watching  her  intently. 

"  Can  you?  can  I  help  him?" — her  whole  form  suddenly 
inspired  with  fresh  life. 

Dr.  Earle  looked  into  her  eager  face  with  a  passion  of 
jealous  inquiry  that  made  her  cast  down  her  eyes: 
13 


194  HOW  JACK  HASTINGS  SOLD  HIS  MINE. 

"  Alice,  do  you  love  this  Hastings?" 

He  called  her  Alice;  he  used  a  tone  and  asked  a  question 
which  could  not  be  misunderstood.  Mrs.  Hastings  dropped 
her  face  into  her  hands,  her  hands  upon  her  knees.  She 
felt  like  a  wild  creature  which  the  dogs  hold  at  bay.  She 
knew  now  what  the  man  meant,  and  the  temptation  he 
used. 

"  Alice/'  he  said  again,  "  this  man,  your  husband,  pos 
sesses  a  prize  he  does  not  value;  or  does  not  know  how  to 
care  for.  Shall  you  stay  here  and  starve  with  him  ?  Is  he 
worth  it?" 

"  He  is  my  husbaud,"  she  answered  simply,  lifting  up  her 
face,  calm,  if  mortally  pale. 

"  And  I  might  be  your  husband,  after  a  brief  interval," 
he  said  quickly.  "  There  would  have  to  be  a  divorce; — it 
could  be  conducted  quietly.  I  do  not  ask  you  to  commit 
yourself  to  dishonor.  I  will  shield  you;  no  care  shall  fall 
upon  you,  nor  any  reproach.  Consider  this  well,  dearest 
darling  Alice!  and  what  will  be  your  fate  if  you  depend 
upon  him." 

"Will  it  help  him  then,  to  desert  him?"  she  asked 
faintly. 

"  Yes,  unless  by  remaining  with  him  you  can  insure  his 
support.  Maintain  you  he  cannot.  Suppose  his  mine  were 
sold,  he  would  waste  that  money  as  he  wasted  what  he 
brought  here.  I  don't  want  his  mine,  yet  I  will  buy  it  to 
morrow  if  that  will  satisfy  you,  and  I  have  your  promise  to 
go  with  me.  I  told  you  once  that  I  wanted  to  run  away 
with  you,  and  now  I  mean  to.  Shall  I  tell  you  my  plan?  " 

"No,  not  to-day,"  Mrs.  Hastings  answered,  struggling 
with  her  pain  and  embarrassment;  "I  could  not  bear  it  to 
day,  I  think." 

"  How  cruel  I  am  while  meaning  to  be  kind!  You  are 
agitated  as  you  ought  not  to  be  in  your  weak  state.  Shall 
I  see  you  to-morrow — a  professional  visit,  you  know  ?  " 

"You  will  buy  the  mine?"— faintly,  with  something  like 
a  blush. 


HOW  JACK  HASTINGS  SOLD  HIS  .MINE.  195 

"Certainly;  I  swear  I  will  —  on  what  conditions,  you 
know." 

"On  none  other?" 

"  Shall  I  rob  myself,  not  of  money  only,  but  of  what  is 
far  clearer  ? — On  none  other."  He  rose,  took  her  cold  hand, 
clasped  it  fervently,  and  went  away. 

When  Jack  came  home  to  his  very  meagre  dinner,  he 
brought  a  can  of  peaches,  which,  being  opened,  looked  so 
deliciously  cool  and  tempting  that  Alice  could  not  refrain 
from  volubly  exulting  over  them.  "  But  how  did  you  get 
them,  Jack  ?"  she  asked;  "  not  by  going  into  debt,  I  hope." 
"No.  I  was  in  Scott's  store,  and  Earle,  happening  to 
come  in  just  as  Scott  was  selling  some,  and  praising  them 
highly,  paid  for  a  can,  and  asked  me  to  take  them  to  you 
and  get  your  opinion.  They  are  splendid,  by  Jove! " 

"I  do  not  fancy  them,"  said  Alice,  setting  down  her 
plate;  "  but  don't  tell  the  Doctor,"  she  added  hastily. 

"You  don't  fancy  anything,  lately,  Alice,"  Mr.  Hastings 
replied,  rather  crossly. 

"Never  mind,  Jack;  my  appetite  will  come  when  you 
have  sold  your  mine;"  and  upon  that  the  unreasonably  fas 
tidious  woman  burst  into  tears. 

"As  if  my  position  is  not  trying  enough  without  seeing 
you  cry ! "  said  Jack,  pausing  from  eating  long  enough  to 
look  injured.  Plastic  Jack!  your  surroundings  were  hav 
ing  their  effect  on  you. 

The  Mining  Neivs  of  the  second  of  September  had  a  no 
tice  of  the  sale  of  Mr.  Hastings'  mine,  the  "  Sybil,"  bearing- 
chloride  of  silver,  to  Dr.  Eustance  Earle,  all  of  Deep  Canon. 
The  papers  to  be  handed  over  and  cash  paid  down  at  Chlo 
ride  Hill  on  the  seventh;  at  which  time  Dr.  Earle  would 
start  for  San  Francisco  on  the  business  of  the  mining  firm 
to  which  he  belonged.  Mr.  Hastings,  it  was  understood, 
would  go  east  about  the  same  time. 

All  the  parties  were  at  Chloride  Hill  on  the  morning  of 
the  seventh,  promptly.  By  eleven  o'clock,  the  above-men 
tioned  transaction  was  completed.  Shortly  after,  one  of 


196  HOW  JACK  HASTINGS  SOLD  HIS  MINE. 

the  Opposition  Line's  stages  stopped  at  Mrs.  Eobb's  board 
ing-house,  and  a  lady,  dressed  for  traveling,  stepped  quickly 
into  it.  Having  few  acquaintances,  and  being  closely  veiled, 
the  lady  passed  unrecognized  at  the  stage-office,  where  the 
other  passengers  got  in. 

Half  an  hour  afterwards  Mr.  Jack  Hastings  received  the 
following  note: 

"DEAR  JACK:  I  sold  your  mine  for  you.  Dr.  Earle  is 
running  away  with  me,  per  agreement;  but  if  you  take  the 
express  this  afternoon,  you  will  reach  Elko  before  the  train 
leaves  for  San  Francisco  to-morrow.  There  is  nothing 
worth  going  back  for  at  Deep  Canon.  If  you  love  me,  save 
me.  Devotedly, 

"  ALICE." 

It  is  superfluous  to  state  that  Jack  took  the  express,  which, 
arriving  at  Elko  before  the  Opposition,  made  him  master  of 
the  situation.  Not  that  he  felt  very  masterful:  he  didn't.  He 
was  thinking  of  many  things  that  it  hurt  him  to  remember; 
but  he  was  meaning  to  do  differently  in  future.  He  had  at 

last  sold  his  mine — no,  he'd  be  d d  if  he  had  sold  it; 

but — Hallo!  there's  a  big  dust  out  on  the  road  there! — it 
must  be  the  other  stage.  Think  what  you'll  do  and  say, 
Jack  Hastings! 

What  he  did  say  was:  "Ah,  Doctor!  you  here?  It  wras 
lucky  for  my  wife,  was  n't  it,  since  I  got  left,  to  have  you 
to  look  after  her?  Thanks,  old  fellow;  you  are  just  in  time 
for  the  train .  Alice  and  I  will  stop  over  a  day  to  rest.  A 
thousand  times  obliged:  good-bye!  Alice,  say  good-bye  to 
Doctor  Earle!  you  will  not  see  him  again." 

Their  hands  and  eyes  met.  He  was  pale  as  marble :  she 
flushed  one  instant,  paled  the  next,  with  a  curious  expres 
sion  in  her  eyes  which  the  Doctor  never  forgot  and  never 
quite  understood.  It  was  enough  to  know  that  the  game 
was  up.  He  had  another  mine  on  his  hands,  and  an  ugly 
pain  in  his  heart  which  he  told  himself  bitterly  would  be 
obstinate  of  cure.  If  he  only  could  be  sure  what  that  look 
in  her  ejres  had  meant! 


WHAT  THEY  TOLD  ME  AT  WILSON'S  BAR.        197 


WHAT  THEY  TOLD  ME  AT  WILSON'S  BAR. 


mining  season  was  ended  in  the  narrow  valley  of 
JL  one  of  the  Sacramento's  northern  tributaries,  as,  in 
fact,  it  was  throughout  the  whole  region  of  "placer  dig 
gings  ;  "  for  it  was  October  of  a  dry  year,  and  water 
had  failed  early  in  all  the  camps.  The  afternoon  of 
a  long,  idle  day  at  Wilson's  Bar  was  drawing  to  a  close. 
The  medium  through  which  the  sun's  hot  rays  reached  the 
parched  earth  was  one  of  red  dust,  the  effect  of  which  was 
that  of  a  mellow  Indian  summer  haze,  pleasing  to  the  eye, 
if  abhored  by  the  skin  and  lungs,  compelled  to  take  it  in, 
whether  brute  or  human.  In  the  landscape  was  an  incon- 
•gruous  mingling  of  beauty  and  deformity;  the  first,  the 
work  of  nature;  the  last,  the  marring  of  man. 

To  the  east  and  to  the  west  rose  hills,  whose  ruggedness 
was  softened  by  distance  to  outlines  of  harmonious  gran 
deur.  Scattered  over  the  valley  between  them,  the  stately 
"  digger,"  or  nut-pines,  grew  at  near  intervals,  singly  or  in 
groups  of  three  or  five,  harmonizing  by  their  pale  gray  -green 
with  the  other  half  -tints  of  earth,  air,  and  sky.  Following 
the  course  of  the  dried  up  river  was  a  line,  more  or  less 
continuous,  of  the  evergreen  oaks,  whose  round,  spreading 
tops  are  such  a  grateful  relief  to  the  eye  in  the  immense 
levels  of  the  lower  Sacramento  and  upper  San  Joaquin 
valleys.  Depending  from  these,  hung  long,  venerable-look 
ing  beards  of  gray  moss,  as  devoid  of  color  as  everything 
else  in  the  landscape;  everything  else,  except  the  California 
wild  grape,  which,  so  far  from  being  devoid  of  color,  was 
gorgeous  enough  in  itself  to  lighten  up  the  whole  fore 
ground  of  the  picture.  Growing  in  clumps  upon  the 
ground,  it  was  gay  as  a  bed  of  tulips.  Clambering  up  oc 
casional  tall  trees,  it  flaunted  its  crimson  and  party-colored 


198         WHAT  THEY  TOLD  ME  AT  WILSON'S  BAR. 

foliage  with  true  bacchanalian  jollit}-,  each  leaf  seeming 
drunk  with  its  own  red  wine.  There  is  truly  nothing  that 
grows  in  the  Golden  State  more  beautiful  than  the  Vitus 
Calif  arnica  in  October. 

That  was  Nature's  side  of  the  picture.  The  reverse  was 
this :  the  earth  everywhere  torn  and  disfigured  by  prospect 
ors,  whose  picks  had  produced  the  effect  of  some  huge 
snout  of  swine,  applied  with  the  industry  characteristic  of 
that  animal  in  forbidden  grounds.  Rude  cabins  were  scat 
tered  about,  chiefly  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  stream. 
Rockers,  sluice-boxes,  and  sieves  strewed  its  borders. 
Along  the  dusty  road  which  led  to  Wilson's  Bar  toiled 
heavily  laden  trains  of  freight-wagons,  carrying  supplies 
for  the  coming  winter.  At  each  little  deviation  from  the 
general  level,  the  eight-mule  teams  strained  every  muscle; 
the  dust-enswathed  drivers  swore  franticly  and  whipped 
mercilessly;  the  immense  wagons  groaned  and  creaked, 
and — the  world  moved  on,  however  much  the  pained  ob 
server  might  wish  to  bring  it  to  a  stand-still. 

A  rosy  sunset  beyond  the  western  mountains  was  casting- 
its  soft  glamour  over  the  scene — happily  not  without  one 
appreciative  beholder — when  Bob  Matheny's  wagon  drew 
up  in  front  of  the  Traveler's  Rest,  the  principal  hotel  of 
"Wilson's  Bar.  From  the  commotion  which  ensued  imme 
diately  thereupon,  it  would  appear  that  Matheiiy  was  a 
person  widely  and  also  somewhat  favorably  known;  such 
ejaculations  as  ei  Hulloa!  thar's  Bob  Matheny,"  "  How-dy, 
old  feller!"  and  many  other  similar  expressions  of  welcome 
greeting  him  on  all  sides,  as  he  turned  from  blocking  the 
wheels  of  his  wagon,  which  else  might  have  backed  down 
the  slight  incline  that  led  to  Traveler's  Rest. 

At  the  same  moment  that  the  hand-shaking  was  progress 
ing,  a  young  woman,  mounted  on  a  handsome  filly,  rode 
up  to  the  rude  steps  of  the  hotel  and  prepared  to  dismount; 
and  Bob  Matheiiy  instantly  broke  away  from  his  numerous 
friends,  to  lift  her  from  the  saddle,  which  act  occasioned  a 


WHAT  THEY  TOLD  ME  AT  WILSON'S  BAR.        199 

sympathetic  smile  in  that  same  numerous  circle,  and  a 
whisper  ran  round  it,  half  audible,  to  the  effect  that  Bob 
had  "  bin  gittin'  married/'  "  A  dog-goned  purty  gal,"  "The 
old  cock's  puttin'  on  frills/3  and  similar  appropriate  remarks, 
ad  infinitum.  In  the  meantime — the  young  woman  disap 
pearing  within  the  hotel,  and  Matheny  occupying  himself 
firstly  with  the  wants  of  his  team,  and  lastly  with  his  own 
and  those  of  his  traveling  companion — gossip  had  busily 
circulated  the  report  among  the  idlers  of  Wilson's  Bar  that 
Bob  Matheny  had  taken  to  himself  a  young  wife,  who  was 
accompanying  him  on  his  monthly  trip  to  the  mountains. 
This  report  was  published  with  the  usual  verbal  commenta 
ries,  legends,  and  annotations;  as  relevant  and  piquant  as 
that  sort  of  gossip  usually  is,  and  as  elegant  as,  from  the 
dialect  of  Wilson's  Bar,  might  be  expected. 

Late  that  evening,  a  group  of  honest  miners  discussed 
the  matter  in  the  Star  Empire  Saloon. 

"  He's  the  last  man  I'd  a-suspected  ov  doin'  sech  a  act," 
said  Tom  Davis,  with  a  manly  grief  upon  his  honest  coun 
tenance,  as  he  hid  the  ace  and  right-bower  under  the  brim 
of  his  ragged  old  sombrero,  and  proceeded  to  play  the  left 
upon  the  remainder  of  that  suit — witli  emphasis,  "  the  very 
last  man!" 

"  It's  a  powerful  temptation  to  a  feller  in  his  shoes,"  re 
marked  the  tall  Kentuckian  on  his  right.  "A  young  gal  is 
a  mighty  purty  thing  to  look  at,  and  takes  a  man's  mind 
off  from  his  misfortin's.  You  mind  the  verse,  don't  ye: 

'  Sorrows  I  divide,  and  joys  I  double  ?'  " 


i  C. 


And  give  this  world  a  world  o'  trouble,"  subjoined 
Davis's  partner,  with  a  good  natured  laugh  at  his  own  wit. 
"It's  your  deal,  Huxly.  Look  and  see  if  all  the  cards  are 
in  the  pack.  Deuced  if  I  don't  suspect  somebody's  hidin' 
them." 

"Every  keerd's  thar  thet  I  hed  in  my  hands,  ef  you  mean 
me,"  said  the  Kentuckian,  sharply. 


200         WHAT  THEY  TOLD  ME  AT  WILSON'S  BAR.  . 

"  Waal,  I  don't  mean  you.  A  feller  may  have  his  little 
joke,  I  suppose." 

"  Depends  on  the  kind  o'  jokes.  Here's  the  two  missin' 
keerds  on  the  floor.  Now,  ef  you  say  I  put  'em  thar,  it's  a 
little  joke  I  reckon  I  won't  stand.  Sabe?" 

"Come,  I'll  pay  for  the  drinks,  old  feF,  if  you'll  allow 
me  to  apologize.  Waiter,  drinks  all  round.  What'll  you 
take,  gentlemen?" 

"Now,  that's  what  I  call  blarsted  'an'some,"  remarked 
Huxley,  who  was  an  Englishman  from  Australia: 

'  Friend  of  me  soul,  this  goblet  sip, 

'Twill  dry  the  starting  tear; 
'Tis  not  so  bright  as  woman's  lip, 

But  oh,  'tis  more  sincere!' 

Here's  to  ye,  me  hearties." 

"Which  brings  us  back  to  our  subject,"  responded 
Davis's  partner,  commonly  called  "  Gentleman  Bill,"  as  the 
glasses  were  drained  and  sent  away.  "  Do  you  believe  in 
curses,  Kentuck?" 

"B'lieve  in  cusses?  Don't  the  Bible  tell  about  cussin'? 
Wasn't  thar  an  old  man  in  the  Bible — I  disremember  his 
name — that  cussed  one  of  his  sons,  and  blessed  t'other  one  ? 
I  reckon  I  do  b'lieve  in  cussiri'." 

His  interlocutor  laughed  softly  at  the  statement  and  ar 
gument.  "  Did  you  ever  know  any  body  to  be  cursed  in 
such  a  manner  that  it  was  plain  he  was  under  a  ban  of  un- 
intermitting  vengeance  ?  " 

"  Ef  you  mean  did  I  ever  know  a  man  as  was  cussed,  I 
ken  say  I  did,  onct.  He  was  a  powerful  mean  man — a  nig 
ger-driver  down  in  Tennessee.  He  was  orful  to  swear,  and 
cruel  to  the  niggers,  an'  his  wife  besides.  One  day  she 
died  an'  left  a  mite  of  a  baby;  an'  he  was  so  mad  he  swore 
he  '  wouldn't  bury  her;  the  neighbors  might  bury  her,  an' 
the  brat,  too,  if  they  liked.'  As  he  was  a-s wear-in'  an'  a- 
tearin'  with  all  his  might,  an'  a-callin'  on  God  to  cuss  him 


WHAT  THEY  TOLD  ME  AT  WILSON'S  BAR.,       201 

ef  he  didn't  do  so  an'  so,  all  of  a  suddent,  just  as  his  mouth 
opened  with  a  oath,  he  was  struck  speechless,  an'  never 
has  spoke  a  word  till  this  day! — leastways,  not  that  I  ever 
heard  ov." 

"  That  is  what  I  should  call  a  special  example  of  Divine 
wrath,"  said  Gentleman  Bill,  deftly  dealing  the  cards  for 
a  new  game.  "What  I  meant  to  ask  was,  whether  any 
one,  yourself  especially,  had  ever  known  one  man  to  curse 
another  man  so  as  to  bring  ruin  upon  him,  in  spite  of  his 
will  to  resist  it." 

"  Waal,  I've  heern  tell  of  sech  things;  can't  say  as  I 
know  such  a  man,  without  it's  Bob  Matheny.  He  says  he's 
cussed;  an'  I  reckon  he  is.  Everybody  in  Wilson's  Bar  has 
heern  about  that." 

"Not  everybody,  for  I  am  still  ignorant  of  his  story. 
Was  that  why  Mr.  Davis  objected  so  strongly  to  his  mar 
riage  ?  I  begin  to  be  interested.  Count  me  another  game, 
partner.  I  should  like  to  hear  about  Mr.  Matheny." 

"You  may  tell  the  story,  Davis,"  said  Kentuck,  magnan 
imously.  "  I  want  ter  chaw  terbacker  fur  awhile,  an'  I 
can't  talk  an'  chaw." 

Tom  Davis  gladly  took  up  the  theme,  as  it  gave  him  an 
opportunity  to  display  his  oratorical  and  rhetorical  abili 
ties,  of  which  he  was  almost  as  proud  as  he  was  of  his 
skill  in  hiding  cards  in  his  sleeves,  his  hat,  his  hair,  his 
boots. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  began,  hesitating  an  instant — while, 
attention  being  fixed  on  what  he  was  about  to  say,  he 
stocked  the  cards — "gentlemen,  it's  one  of  the  curusest 
things  you  ever  heerd  in  yer  life.  It  seems  thai*  was  a  wo 
man  at  the  bottom  of  it— I  believe  thar  allers  is  at  the  bot 
tom  of  everything.  Waal,  he  stole  another  man's  sun 
flower — I've  heerd  Bob  say  so,  hisself— an'  the  other  feller 
got  mad — as  mad  as  thunder — an',  when  he  found  his  gal 
had  vamosed  with  Bob,  he  cursed  him;  an'  his  curse  was 
this:  that  as  long  as  he  lived  all  that  he  did  should  prosper 


202        WHAT  '/'///•;>'  TOLD  UK  AT  WILSON'S  BAB. 

for  a  little  while,  an'  jest,  when  he  begun  to  euj'y  it,  a  curse 
should  come  onto  it.  Ef  it  \vor  business,  when  lie  thought 
lie  was  sure  of  a  good  tiling,  it  should  fail.  Ef  it  \vor  love, 
Hie  woman  he  loved  should  die.  Ef  it  \vor  children,  they 
should  grow  iij),  and  turn  agin'  him;  or,  if  they  stuck  to 
him,  the  same  curse  should  be  on  them;  what  tliey  under 
took  should  fail;  what  they  loved  should  die.'' 

"Did  the  woman  lie  loved  die?  did  his  children  desert 
him?''  asked  the  Englishman,  eagerly. 

"  His  wife  died  seven  year  arter  he  married  her;  one  ov 
hifl  boys  was  killed  by  bifl  horse  Tallin'  on  him;  the  other 
got  into  bad  company  down  to  Red  Bluffs,  an',  arter  leadin' 
the  old  man  a  devil  of  a  life  for  two  year  or  more,  run  off, 
an'  got  taken  by  the  lynchers — so  folks  said.  I  b'lieve  he 
has  a  gal,  back  in  the  States;  but  his  wife's  folks  won't  let 
her  come  to  Calif orny.  They're  a-eddicatin'  her  quite 
grand,  an'  she  writes  a  powerful  nice  letter.  The  old  man 
showed  me  one,  last  time  he  was  up  to  the  Bar.  Han'some 
as  any  school-marm's  ever  ye  saw.  But  Bob  says  he  don't 
see  what's  the  use;  somethin's  sure  to  happen  her;  some- 
thin'  allers  does  happen  to  him  an'  to  his  chillern." 

"  Is  that  why  he  thinks  he's  cursed — because  '  something 
always  happens  ?'"  asked  Gentleman  Bill,  indifferently. 

"  Sart 'in;  an'  it's  so,  as  sure;  as  yer  born.  Nothin'  never 
pans  out  long  with  Bob  ]\Iatheny.  His  beginnin's  is  all 
good,  an'  his  endin's  all  bad.  I  reckon  thar  never  was  a 
man  to  AVilson's  Bar  has  been  cleaned  eout,  down  to  the 
bed-rock,  as  often  as  Matheny." 

"Is  he  a  good  man?"  asked  the  Englishman,  interested. 

"Never  had  a  better  man  to  Wilson's  Bur,"  responded 
Kentuck,  decidedly,  as  he  east  his  quid  under  the  table. 
"  He  ain't  a  lucky  feller,  an'  lie's  mighty  superstitious  an' 
the  like;  but  I  make  a  heap  o'  Bob  Matheny.  His  luck  an' 
his  cuss  don't  hurt  him  none  for  me.  It's  jest  a  notion, 
incbbe." 

"  Notion  or  no  notion,"  said  Davis,  with  a  knowing  leer, 


WHAT  '/'///;>'  TOLD  M i>:  AT  WIL80XT8  /M /.'.        203 

"  he's  not  the  man  to  marry  a  nice  gal  like  that  'mi  he's  got 
up  to  the  Eest.  Better  let  her  bo  for  Korne  lucky  young 
feller  as  could  make  her  happy.  Don't  you  nay  so,  boys?" 
While  the  laugh  went  round,  the  crowd  that  had  been 
gradually  collecting  and  listening  to  the  story,  began  to 
move,  and  then  to  part,  as  the  man  BO  much  talked  of  forced 
his  way  toward  the  group  of  speakers. 

"Hold  yer  tongue,  Tom  Davis,"  said  Kentuck.  "  Hul- 
loa,  Bob!  take  my  hand,  won't  ye?  I'll  introduce  ye  to  my 
friends.  My  pardner  is  Huxly— a  tip-top  feller,  as  you'll 
diskivcr  fur  ycrself.  Davis'  pardner  is  Kandolph — Gentle 
man  Bill,  we  call  him  fur  short,  lie's  so  nice  and  pcrlite. 
He's  from  yer  State,  too,  I  reckon." 

"Randolphs  of  Boonoville,"  said  Gentleman  Bill;  rising 
and  extending  his  hand. 

Matheny,  who  was  a  mild-looking  man  of  about  fifty,  with 
a  hesitating  manner  and  rather  care-worn  countenance,  half 
concealed  under  a  .wide-brimmed,  dusty  black  liat,  instead 
of  meeting  half-way  the  extended  hand  of  his  friend's  friend, 
thrust  his  own  into  his  pockets  and  ga/ed  fixedly  at  young 
Kandolph.  "  Be  ye  Boone  Randolph,  or  be  ye  his  KporritV" 
he  asked,  hoarsely. 

"  Neither,  quite,"  said  tho  young  man,  smiling,  yet  a  lit 
tle  flushed.  "I  am  son  of  Boone  Randolph  of  liooneville, 
if  you  know  who  he  was." 

Matheny  turned  and  hurried  out  of  the  crowd,  followed 
by  Kentuck,  who  wanted  to  have  explained  this  singular 
conduct  of  Bob's  towards  his  friends.  As  there  was  no 
witness  of  their  conversation,  its  meaning  can  only  be 
guessed  at  by  another  which  took  place  two  hours  later, 
after  Matheny  had  turned  in  at  the  Traveler's  Rest.  It  was 
late,  even  for  him,  when  Kentuck  started  for  his  lodgings 
at  the  other  end  of  the  long,  densely  crowded  street — 
crowded  not  only  with  buildings  of  wood  and  canvas,  but 
choked  up  with  monstrous  freight  wagons,  and  their  nu 
merous  horse  and  mule-teams,  for  which  there  was  not  sia- 


204         WHAT  THEY  TOLD  ME  AT  WILSON'S  BAR. 

ble-room  enough  in  all  "Wilson's  Bar.  Stumbling  along 
the  uneven  sidewalk,  often  touching  with  his  feet  some 
unhoused  vagabond,  Kentuck  was  about  to  mount  the 
stairs  which  led  to  his  bedroom,  when  some  one  touched 
him  on  the  shoulder,  and  the  voice  of  Gentleman  Bill  ad 
dressed  him: 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Kentuck;  but  you've  been  with 
Matheny,  baven't  you?  I  want  to  know  why  he  wouldn't 
shake  hands.  He  told  you,  of  course  ?" 

"Waal,  I'm  a  friend  of  Bob's,  ye  know,  Bill;  an'  he  is 
mighty  rough  on  you,  sure.  Better  not  say  nothin'  about 
it." 

"That  wouldn't  suit  me,  Kentuck.  I  want  to  under 
stand  something  about  the  matter  which  concerns  me  so 
evidently.  Come,  out  with  it,  and  I'll  leave  you  to  go  to 
bed." 

"Waal,  you  heerd  Tom  Davis'  blab  this  evenin';  an'  you 
know  that  Bob's  got  the  idee  into  his  intelleck  that  the 
cuss  of  a  sart'in  man  as  he  onct  wronged  is  a-stickin'  to 
him  yit,  an1  never  will  let  loose  till  he  passes  in  his 
checks  ?" 

"  AVbo  was  the  man?" 

"  Boone  Randolph,  of  Booneville." 

"My  father?" 

"Yaas,  yer  pap.  He's  down  powerful  on  your  pap, 
that's  sart'in.  Sez  he  to  me:  '  Loh !  that's  the  ornary 
whelp  ov  the  devil  that  cussed  me.  Old's  I  am  I'd  like  to 
fight  him,  fur  the  sake  o'  the  man  that  I  knowed  onct.  I 
feel  my  young  blood  a-risin';  he  looks  so  mighty  like  Boone 
Randolph.'  But  I  tole  him  he  war  a  fool  to  talk  ov  fightin' 
yer;  ye'd  whip  him  all  ter  flinders." 

"  I  wouldn't  fight  him,  of  course:  he's  too  old  for  me. 
And  then  he's  just  married,  too,  isn't  he  ?  I  have  no  wish 
to  make  that  young  woman  a  widow." 

"A  widow!''  said  Kentuck,  laughing.  "That  girl's 
name  is  Anne  Matheny;  but  she  ain't  Bob's  wife,  not  by  a 


WHAT  THEY  TOLD  ME  AT  WILSON'S  BAR.        205 

long  shot.     Why,  she's  Bob's  darter,  as  has  just  come  out 
to  see  her  old  pap." 

"Well,  I  like  that.  I  am  less  than  ever  inclined  to  fight 
the  man  who  owns  such  a  daughter.  I  must  find  a  way  to 
make  friends  with  him,  even  if  I  have  to  quarrel  with  him 
to  do  it.  Good-night,  Kentuck.  Pleasant  dreams  to  you." 

Gentleman  Bill  felt  more  than  ordinarily  wide-awake, 
whether  it  was  from  the  novel  excitement  of  the  brief  en 
counter  with  Matheny  or  not.  When  Kentuck  had  left 
him,  he  stood  for  some  time  irresolute,  with  no  wish  for 
rest,  and  no  desire  to  go  anywhere  in  particular.  He  looked 
up  to  the  sky.  It  was  murky  with  filmy  fog-clouds  and 
dust  not  yet  settled  to  the  earth .  Not  a  star  was  visible  in 
the  whole  arch  of  heaven.  He  looked  down  the  street,  and 
his  eyes,  accustomed  to  the  darkness,  could  just  faintly  dis 
tinguish  the  outlines  of  the  wagons  that  crowded  it.  Every 
sound  was  hushed,  except  the.  occasional  movement  of  a 
restless  animal,  or  the  deep  sighing  of  a  sleeping  one.  Not 
a  light  was  burning  anywhere  along  the  street.  While  gaz 
ing  aimlessly  into  the  gloom  he  saw,  all  at  once,  as  if 
lighted  by  a  flash  from  the  sky,  a  sudden  illumination  spring 
up,  and  a  column  of  flame  stand  erect  over  the  Traveler's 
Best. 

Now,  Wilson's  Bar  did  not  boast  a  fire  company.  At 
some  seasons  of  the  year,  had  a  fire  broken  out,  there  would 
have  been  a  chance  of  its  extinguishment,  inflammable  as 
were  the  materials  of  which  the  place  was  built;  but  just 
after  the  long,  hot  summer,  when  the  river  was  all  but  dried 
up,  and  every  plank  in  houses,  fences,  and  sidewalks  so 
much  tinder,  a  fire  that  should  get  under  headway  would 
have  everything  its  own  way.  Seeing  the  danger.  Gentle 
man  Bill  started  clown  the  street  on  a  run,  shouting,  in  his 
clarion  tones,  that  ever-thrilling  cry  of  "Fire!  fire!  fire!" 
till  it  seemed  to  him  he  must  wake  the  dead.  But  it  was 
that  hour  of  the  night,  or  rather  morning,  when  sleep  is 
heaviest,  and  the  watchful  senses  off  their  guard.  The 


206         WHAT  THEY  TOLD  ME  AT   WILSON'S  BAR. 

teamsters,  who  slept  in  their  wagons,  were  the  first  to  be 
aroused;  but  they,  seeing  the  peril  which  might  come  to 
their  teams,  and  destruction  to  their  property,  kept  by  their 
own.  The  inhabitants  of  the  dwellings  awoke  more  slowly, 
and  came  pouring  into  the  street  only  in  time  to  see  the 
roof  of  the  Traveler's  Best  falling  in,  although  the  lower 
story  was  not  yet  consumed. 

Nobody  knew  much  about  the  details  of  the  scene  that 
ensued.  The  current  of  heated  air  produced  the  usual  rush 
of  cold  wind,  which  spread  and  fed  the  flames,  until,  in 
half  an  hour,  all  hope  of  saving  any  part  of  the  principal 
street  in  the  Bar  was  abandoned,  and  people  were  flying  for 
safety  to  the  outskirts  of  the  town. 

On  a  little  eminence,  overlooking  the  burning  buildings, 
together  stood  Gentleman  Bill  and  a  young  woman  he  had 
rescued  from  smoke  and  flame  just  in  time  to  save  her  from 
suffocation.  Together  they  looked  down  upon  the  confla 
gration,  and  together  listened  to  the  horrible  medley  of 
sounds  proceeding  from  it. 

"If  I  could  only  know  that  my  father  is  safe!"  was  the 
repeated  moan  of  Anne  Matheny,  as  she  gazed  intently 
upon  the  scene  of  distress. 

Seeing  the  fright  and  trouble  in  her  eyes,  her  companion 
cunningly  diverted  her  attention  for  one  moment  to  the 
weird  landscape  stretching  away  toward  the  western 
mountains.  It  was  the  same  scene  she  had  beheld  for  the 
first  time  with  such  interest  twelve  hours  before;  but  in 
what  a  different  aspect!  The  murky  heavens  reflected  the 
red  glare  of  the  flames  upon  every  object  for  miles  around, 
tinging  each  with  a  lurid  gleam  like  nothing  in  nature. 
The  dark  neutrals  of  the  far-off  mountains,  the  gray-green 
of  the  pines,  the  sere  colors  of  the  parched  valley,  the  dark 
dull-green  of  the  oaks,  garlanded  with  hoary  moss,  and  the 
gay  foliage  of  the  wild  grape;  all  came  out  distinctly  in  this 
furnace-glow,  but  with  quite  new  effects.  In  the  strong 
and  strange  fascination  of  the  scene,  both  these  young  peo- 


WHAT  THEY  TOLD  ME  AT  WILSON'S  BAR.        207 

pie,  so  singularly  situated,  forgot  for  three  minutes  their 
mutual  anxiety.  Longer  it  would  be  impossible  to  for 
get  it. 

"Do  not  you  think  I  might  go  to  look  for  my  father 
now,  Mr.  -  -  ?" 

"  Eandolph" — supplied  that  gentleman. 

"  Oh,  thank  you  ! — Mr.  Eandolph?" 

"  I  do  not  see  how  you  could,  really;"  and,  without  in 
tending  it  in  the  least,  but  simply  through  his  embarrass 
ment,  Eandolph  glanced  hastily  at  her  scanty  dress,  which 
thereby  she  blushingly  understood  to  be  his  objection. 

"  If  I  could  get  only  a  blanket  from  father's  wagon  !  Do 
you  think  it  would  be  possible  ?  Would  you  be  running  a 
risk  to  try  for  a  blanket,  do  you  think,  Mr.  Eandolph?  If 
there  is  any  risk,  please  do  not  go  ;  but  I  am  so  anxious — 
so  terribly  anxious." 

He  knew  she  was,  and  knew  the  reason  she  had  for  her 
apprehensions;  so,  although  he  mistrusted  the  result  of  his 
errand,  he  answered  simply:  "  Certainly;  I  will  go,  if  you 
are  not  afraid  to  be  left  alone.  1  shall  be  in  no  danger." 

"O,  thank  you— thank  you  !  You  will  bring  me  a  mes 
sage  from  my  father  ?" 

"I  hope  so,  indeed,  since  you  desire  it  so  much.  I 
think  you  had  better  sit  down  on  this  newspaper,  and  let 
me  cover  your  shoulders  with  my  coat." 

"No,  indeed.  If  you  are  going  near  the  fire,  you  will 
need  it  to  protect  you  from  cinders." 

But  Eandolph  quickly  divested  himself  of  his  upper  gar 
ment,  and  laid  it  lightly  over  her  shivering  form;  then 
quietly  charging  her  to  feel  no  alarm,  and  as  little  anxiety 
as  possible,  strode  rapidly  away  toward  the  fire.  Fifteen 
minutes  afterward  he  returned  more  slowly,  with  a  blanket, 
which  Anne  rose  up  to  receive. 

"  My  father  ?     Did  you  see  my  father  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  see  him.  He  must  have  taken  his  horses  off 
a  little  distance  for  safety,  and  you  may  not  see  him  for 


208         WHAT  THEY  TOLD  ME  AT  WILSON'S  BAR. 

several  hours.  Do  not  indulge  in  apprehensions.  In  the 
morning  we  shall  find  him:  it  is  almost  daylight  now." 

He  pointed  to  a  faint  light  along  the  eastern  horizon;  but 
her  eyes  were  blinded  with  tears. 

"  It  is  not  like  my  father  to  leave  me  so  long — at  such  a 
time,  too!  He  would  not  care  for  his  horses,  nor  for  any 
thing  but  me.  O,  can  he  have  perished  1" 

She  spoke  as  though  the  awful  significance  of  her  loneli 
ness  had  just  dawned  upon  her.  Randolph,  from  whom 
the  thought  had  never  been  absent  from  the  moment  he 
saw  the  pillar  of  flame  shooting  up  over  the  Traveler's  Best, 
was  startled  by  the  suddenness  of  her  anguish;  and  an  ex 
pression  of  profound  grief  came  over  his  face,  noticeable 
even  to  her  inattentive  eyes,  and  which  comforted  her  by 
its  sympathy,  even  in  the  midst  of  her  alarm  and  distress. 

The  clay  had  dawned  when  Anne  Matheny  lifted  her  tear- 
swollen  face  from  her  knees,  and  looked  upon  the  smoking 
ruins  of  Wilson's  Bar.  It  was  but  a  blackened  heap  of 
rubbish;  yet  somewhere  in  its  midst,  she  felt  assured,  were 
buried  the  charred  remains  of  her  father.  Each  moment 
that  he  came  not  deepened  her  conviction,  until  at  last  her 
companion  ceased  his  efforts  to  inspire  hope,  and  accepted 
her  belief  as  his  own.  Then,  with  the  inconsistency  of  sor 
row,  she  violently  repudiated  the  suspicion  of  her  father's 
death,  and  besought  him  piteously  to  seek  and  bring  him 
to  her  side. 

It  was  while  obeying  this  last  command  that  Gentleman 
Bill  encountered  Kentuck,  who,  after  the  confusion  of  the 
fire  was  over,  was,  like  himself,  looking  for  Matheny.  When 
the}r  had  consulted  together,  the  two  returned  to  the  place 
where  Anne  was  awaiting  them. 

"  There  is  one  request  I  hav.e  to  make,  Kentuck:  which 
is,  that  you  will  not  inform  Miss  Matheny  of  the  enmity  of 
her  father  toward  my  father  and  myself.  It  would  only 
distress  her.  Besides,  I  should  like  to  befriend  her,  poor 
girl!  and  I  could  not,  if  she  looked  upon  me  with  her 
father's  eyes." 


WHAT  THEY  TOLD  ME  AT  WILSON'S  BAR.        209 

"No,  'tain't  no  use  to  tell  her  nothin' about  that 3  sure 
enough.  It's  mighty  curus,  though,  'bout  that  fire:  not 
another  man  got  hurt,  not  a  mite;  and  Bob  Matheny  dead! 
I'll  be  hanged  if  it  ain't  mighty  curus.  I  hope  ye  won't 
hurt  the  gal,  bein'  yer  the  son  of  yer  father/' 

"Hurt  her!     I'd " 

Gentleman  Bill  did  not  say  what  he  would  do:  but  Ken- 
tuck,  glancing  his  way,  caught  a  perfectly  comprehensible 
expressioD,  and  muttered  softly  to  himself: 

"  Waal,  if  that  ain't  the  dog-gondest  curusest  sarcum- 
stance  I  ever  seed.  Hit,  the  first  pop!  "Waal,  I'm  not  the 
feller  to  come  atween  'em  ef  thet's  ther  notion.  Far  play's 
my  rule." 

To  Bill,  aloud,  he  said:  "Reckon  you'll  hev'  to  let  me 
be  her  uncle  for  awhile  yet.  Yer  most  too  young  a  feller 
to  offer  to  take  car'  of  a  gal  like  that.  Bob  Matheny's  dar 
ter  has  a  right  to  what  leetle  dust  pans  out  o'  Kentuck's 
claim.  Thet's  my  go." 

Just  at  this  moment  Anne,  who  had  been  watching  for 
the  return  of  her  friend,  seeing  two  figures  approaching, 
uttered  a  cry  of  joy  and  ran  forward  to  meet  them.  The 
shock  of  her  disappointment  at  seeing  a  stranger  in  place 
of  her  father,  caused  her  nearly  to  swoon  away  in  Kentuck's 
arms. 

"  Neow,  don't  ye,  honey,"  he  said,  soothingly,  in  his 
kind  Kentucky  dialect.  "Sho!  don't  ye  take  on.  We's 
all  got  to  die,  sometime  or  'nother.  Don't  mind  me:  I'm 
yer  pap's  oldest  friend  on  this  coast — hev'  prospected  an' 
dug  an'  washed  up  with  him  sence  '49;  and  a  kinder 
comrade  a  man  never  lied.  In  course,  I  consider  it  my 
dooty  an'  privilege  to  see  that  you're  took  car'  ov.  The 
Bar's  purty  much  cleaned  eout — thet's  so;  but  I'll  soon  hev' 
a  cabin  up  somewhere;  an'  ye  can  jest  run  my  shebang  any 
way  ye  like.  Reckon  I  can  find  some  nice  woman  to  stay 
along  with  ye,  fur  comp'ny." 

This  was  just  the  kind  of  talk  best  calculated  to  engage 


210         WHAT  THEY  TOLD  ME  AT  WILSON'S  BAR. 

the  attention  of  one  in  Anne's  situation — half  soothing  and 
half  suggestive— and  by  degrees  her  father's  old  friend  suc 
ceeded  in  arousing  her  to  face  her  loss,  and  the  prospects 
of  her  future. 

They  told  me  at  Wilson's  Bar,  only  last  October— it  must 
have  been  about  the  anniversary  of  the  fire— that  in  two  or 
three  months  Anne  had  recovered  her  spirits  and  health  so 
far  as  to  essay  teaching  the  little  flock  of  children  at  the 
Bar,  with  flattering  success;  and  that  in  two  or  three  more 
it  began  to  be  observed  that  Gentleman  Bill — now  more 
commonly  called  Mr.  Randolph,  out  of  respect  to  Miss 
Matheiry— generally  happened  to  be  in  the  neighborhood  of 
the  school-house  about  the  hour  of  closing,  in  order  that  he 
might  walk  home  with  the  teacher.  In  truth,  the  young- 
people  had  taken  to  looking  and  sighing  after  each  other  in 
a  way  that  provoked  remark,  and  augured  a  wedding.  As 
Anne  insisted  on  completing  her  term  of  teaching,  as  well 
as  on  taking  a  little  time  for  preparation,  the  wedding  did 
not  come  off  until  the  first  part  of  September. 

On  this  occasion — the  only  one  of  the  kind  Kentuck  had 
ever  had  anything  to  do  with — the  rude,  but  generous-hearted 
Kentuckian  made  a  point  of  displaying  his  hospitality  on  a 
scale  commensurate  with  his  ideas  of  its  importance;  and  the 
('lite  of  Wilson's  Bar  were  invited,  to  eat,  drink,  and  dance 
from  dusk  till  dawn  of  that  memorable  day.  As  for  the 
bride,  she  looked  as  lovely  as  it  is  the  right  and  duty  of  all 
brides  to  look — even  lovelier  than  the  most;  and  the  groom 
was  the  very  prince  of  bridegrooms — so  all  the  maiden 
guests  declared. 

On  the  following  morning,  when  the  young  couple  were 
to  go  away,  Annie  kissed  and  cried  over  Kentuck,  her  sec 
ond  father,  in  a  truly  gratifying  fashion;  and  Randolph  be 
haved  very  gentlemanly  and  kindly — as,  in  fact,  he  always 
did;  and  Kentuck  put  on  paternal  airs,  blessing  his  chil 
dren  in  all  the  honeyed  epithets  of  a  true  Kentuckian. 


WHAT  THEY  TOLD  ME  AT  WILSON'S  BAR.         211 

Alas,  that  the  legend  does  not  end  here!  If  the  reader 
is  of  my  mind,  he  will  wish  that  it  had.  But  if  he  is  of  that 
sanguinary  sort  who  always  insist  upon  seeing  the  grist  the 
gods  send  to  their  slow-grinding  mills,  he  will  prefer  to 
know  the  sequel.  As  I  have  already  told  you,  it  was  in 
September  they  were  married.  On  the  morning  they  left 
Kentuck  the  weather  was  extremely  hot,  with  queer  little 
clouds  hanging  about  the  mountains.  They  took  the  road 
up  the  canon,  toward  McGibeney's  ranch — laughing  and 
chatting,  as  they  rode  along  side  by  side,  Anne  replying  to 
every  lark  singing  by  the  roadside  in  a  voice  almost  as 
musical. 

Well,  if  it  must  be  told,  there  was  a  cloud-burst  on  the 
mountains  about  noon  that  day.  Not  four  hours  after  they 
had  taken  leave  of  him,  Kentuck  received  their  poor  bruised 
bodies  at  his  very  threshold,  brought  there  without  the  in 
terposition  of  human  hands.  Wilson's  Bar  will  long  re 
member  that  day.  The  fire  took  chiefly  that  which  could 
be  replaced;  but  the  flood  washed  out  claims,  ruined  aque 
ducts,  and  destroyed  lives  of  men  and  brutes,  carrying  away 
with  it  the  labors  and  hopes  of  years. 


212  MISS  JORGENSEN. 


MISS    JORGENSEN. 

I  AM  a  plain,  elderly,  unmarried  man,  and  I  board  at  Mrs. 
Mason's.  A  great  deal  of  what  I  am  about  to  relate 
came  under  my  own  observation;  and  the  remainder  was 
confided  to  me  from  time  to  time  by  my  landlady,  with 
whom  I  am  upon  terms  of  friendship  and  intimacy,  having 
had  a  home  in  her  house  for  a  period  of  seven  years. 

Mrs.  Mason  lives  in  her  own  tenement,  in  a  quiet  part  of 
the  city;  and  besides  myself,  has  usually  three  or  four  other 
boarders,  generally  teachers,  or  poor  young  authors — some 
person  always  of  the  class  that,  having  few  other  pleasures, 
makes  it  a  point  to  secure  rooms  with  a  fine  view  of  the 
bay.  When  Miss  Jorgensen  came  to  us,  we  were  a  quiet, 
studious,  yet  harmonious  and  happy  family;  so  well  satis 
fied  with  our  little  community  that  we  did  not  take  kindly 
to  the  proposed  addition  to  our  circle  when  Mrs.  Mason 
mentioned  it.  Neither  did  our  landlady  seem  to  desire  any 
change;  but  she  explained  to  us  that  the  young  person  ap 
plying  had  made  a  strong  appeal;  that  her  classes  (she  was 
a  teacher  of  French)  were  principally  in  our  part  of  the 
city;  and  that  she  would  be  satisfied  with  a  mere  closet  for 
a  room.  The  only  privilege  for  which  she  stipulated  was 
the  use  of  the  common  parlor  twice  a  week  to  receive  her 
company  in. 

"  But  I  cannot  agree  to  give  up  the  parlor  any  single 
evening,"  Mrs.  Mason  replied,  "because  it  is  used  by  all 
the  family,  every  evening.  You  will  be  entitled  to  the  same 
privileges  with  the  others."  After  some  hesitation  this  was 
agreed  to,  and  our  new  boarder  was  installed  in  the  upper 
hall  bed-room,  which,  when  it  had  received  the  necessary 
furniture  and  a  Saratoga  trunk,  with  numerous  boxes  and 
baskets,  would  scarcely  allow  space  enough  to  dress  in. 


JfISS  JOROENSEN.  213 

However,  Mrs.  Mason  reported  that  the  tenant  professed 
real  satisfaction  with  her  quarters;  and  we  all  were  on  tip 
toe  with  curiosity  to  see  the  new  inmate. 

"  Miss  Jorgensen,"  said  Mrs.  Mason,  that  evening,  as  she 
escorted  to  the  dinner-table  a  small,  pale,  dark-eyed  young- 
person,  in  deep  mourning;  and  we  being  severally  and 
separately  presented  afterward,  endeavored  to  place  this 
little  lonely  scrap  of  humanity  at  ease  with  ourselves.  But 
in  this  well-intentioned  effort  Miss  Jorgensen  did  not  seem 
to  meet  us  half  way.  On  the  contrary,  she  repelled  us. 
She  was  reserved  without  being  diffident;  mercilessly  criti 
cal,  and  fierily  disputatious — all  of  which  we  found  out  in 
less  than  a  week.  She  never  entered  or  left  a  room  without 
somehow  disturbing  the  mental  atmosphere  of  it,  and  giv 
ing  the  inmates  a  little  shock;  so  that  Mr.  Quivey,  our  dra 
matic  writer,  soon  took  to  calling  her  the  "  Electrical  Eel," 
substituting  "  E.  E."  when  the  person  indicated  was  within 
ear-shot  possibly  or  probably.  In  return,  as  we  afterward 
discovered,  Miss  Jorgensen  told  Miss  Flower,  our  other 
young  lady  boarder,  that  she  had  christened  Mr.  Quivey  "  I. 
I."—"  Incurable  Idiot."  How  the  "  E.  E."  came  to  her 
knowledge  was  never  made  plain.  Before  three  months 
were  past,  she  had  quarreled  with  every  one  in  the  house 
except  Mrs.  Mason  and  myself;  though,  to  her  credit  be  it 
said,  she  always  apologized  for  her  temper  when  they  were 
over,  with  a  frankness  that  disarmed  resentment.  Never 
theless,  she  was  so  frequently  in  a  hostile  attitude  toward 
one  or  another  in  the  family,  that  the  mere  mention  of 
Miss  Jorgen sen's  name  was  sure  to  arrest- attention  and  ex 
cite  expectations.  Thus,  when  I  only  chanced  to  whisper 
to  Mrs.  Mason  at  breakfast  one  morning,  "  Miss  Jorgensen 
keeps  late  hours,"  every  one  at  the  table  glanced  our  way 
inquiringly,  as  much  as  to  ask,  (i  What  has  the  little  woman 
done  now?"  And  when  she  appeared  at  the  close  of  the 
meal  with  pale  face  and  swollen  eyes,  explaining  her  tardi 
ness  by  saying  she  had  a  headache,  no  one  gave  her  sym 
pathizing  looks  except  the  landlady. 


214  MISS  JORGENSEN. 

That  kind-hearted  person  confided  to  me,  later  in  the 
day,  that  her  new  boarder  troubled  and  puzzled  her  very 
much.  "She  will  sit  up  until  one  or  two  o'clock  every 
night,  writing  something  or  other,  and  that  makes  her  late 
to  breakfast.  She  goes  out  teaching  every  morning,  and 
comes  back  tired  and  late  to  luncheon;  and  you  see  she  is 
never  in  her  place  at  dinner  until  the  soup  is  removed,  and 
every  one  at  the  table  helped.  When  I  once  suggested 
that  she  ought  not  to  sit  up  so  long  at  night,  and  that  her 
classes  should  be  arranged  not  to  fatigue  her  so  much, 
with  other  bits  of  friendly  advice,  she  gave  me  to  understand, 
very  promptly,  that  her  ways  were  her  own,  and  not  to  be 
interfered  with  by  any  one.  And  directly  afterward  the 
tears  came  into  her  eyes.  I  confess  I  did  not  understand 
her  at  all." 

"What  about  the  young  man  who  calls  here  twice  a 
week  ?"  I  inquired. 

"  She  is  engaged  to  him,  she  says." 

"  What  sort  of  a  person  does  he  seem  to  be  ?" 

"He  looks  well  enough,  only  rather  shabby,  is  very 
quiet,  very  attentive  to  her,  and  what  you  might  call  obedi 
ent  to  her  requirements.  She  often  seems  displeased  with 
him,  but  what  she  says  to  him  at  such  times  is  unknown  to 
me,  for  she  does  her  scolding  all  in  French;  and  he  usu 
ally  then  invites  her  out  to  walk,  by  way  of  diversion,  I 
suppose." 

"Do  you  know  that  he  comes  ever}7  morning  and  carries 
her  books  for  her?  He  certainly  cannot  be  employed,  or 
he  would  not  have  time  for  such  gallantries." 

"Perhaps  he  is  engaged  on  one  of  the  morning  papers, 
and  so  is  off  duty  in  the  forenoon.  I  cannot  think  so  in 
dustrious  a  person  as  she  would  take  up  with  a  man  both 
poor  and  idle.  But  you  never  know  what  a  woman  will 
do,"  sighed  Mrs.  Mason,  who  had  known  something  of 
heart-troubles  in  her  youth,  and  could  sympathize  with 
other  unlucky  women.  "Excuse  me;  I  must  not  stand 


MISS  JORGENSEN.  215 

here  gossiping."  And  the  good  lady  went  about  her  house 
affairs. 

A  few  moments  later  I  was  hurrying  down  town  to  my 
office,  when  I  overtook  Miss  Jorgensen  and  Mr.  Hurst.  As 
usual,  she  was  leaning  upon  his  arm,  and  he  was  carrying 
her  books.  She  was  talking  excitedly,  in  French,  and  I 
thought  her  to  be  crying,  though  her  face  was  covered  with 
a  black  veil.  The  few  words  I  caught  before  she  recog 
nized  me  reminded  me  of  my  conversation  with  Mrs. 
Mason. 

"  You  must  get  something  to  do,  Harry,"  she  was  saying. 
"  You  know  that  I  work  every  instant  of  the  time,  yet  how 
little  I  can  save  if  I  have  to  supply  you  with  money.  It  is 
a  shame  to  be  so  idle  and  helpless,  when  there  is  so  much 
to  be  done  before — 

She  perceived  me  and  stopped  short.  "  So,"  I  thought, 
"  this  precious  scamp  is  living  off  the  earnings  of  the  little 
French  teacher,  is  he ?  A  pretty  fellow,  truly!  I'll  get  him 
his  conge  if  I  have  to  make  love  to  her  m}7self . "  Which 
latter  conceit  so  amused  me,  that  I  had  forgotten  to  be  in 
dignant  with  Mr.  Hurst  before  I  reached  my  office  and 
plunged  into  the  business  of  the  day. 

But  I  never  made  love  to  Miss  Jorgensen.  She  was  not 
the  kind  of  person  even  a  flirtish  man  would  choose  to  talk 
sentiment  with,  and  I  was  always  far  enough  from  being  a 
gallant.  So  our  affairs  went  on  in  just  the  usual  way  at 
Mrs.  Mason's  for  three  or  four  months.  Miss  Jorgensen 
and  Mr.  Quivey  let  fly  their  arrows  of  satire  at  each  other; 
Miss  Flower,  the  assistant  high-school  teacher,  enacted  the 
amiable  go-between;  our  "promising  young  artist"  was 
wisely  neutral;  Mrs.  Mason  and  myself  were  presumed  to 
be  old  enough  to  be  out  of  the  reach  of  boarding-house 
tiffs,  and  preserved  a  prudent  unconsciousness.  Mr.  Hurst 
continued  to  call  twice  a  week  in  the  evening,  and  Miss 
Jorgensen  kept  on  giving  French  lessons  by  day,  and  writ 
ing  out  translations  for  the  press  at  night.  She  was  grow- 


216  MISS  JORGENSEN. 

ing  very  thin,  very  pale,  and  cried  a  good  deal,  as  I  had 
reason  to  know,  for  her  room  adjoined  mine,  and  more  than 
a  few  times  I  had  listened  to  her  sobbing,  until  I  felt  al 
most  forced  to  interfere;  but  interfered  I  never  had  yet. 

One  foggy  July  evening,  on  coming  home  to  dinner,  I 
encountered  Miss  Jorgensen  in  the  hall.  She  appeared  to 
be  just  going  out,  a  circumstance  which  surprised  me  some 
what,  on  account  of  the  hour.  I  however  opened  the  door 
for  her  without  comment,  when  by  the  fading  daylight  I 
perceived  that  her  face  was  deathly  pale,  and  her  black  eyes 
burning.  She  passed  me  without  remark,  and  harried  off 
into  the  foggy  twilight.  Nor  did  she  appear  at  dinner;  but 
came  in  about  eight  o'clock  and  went  directly  to  her  own 
room.  When  Mrs.  Mason  knocked  at  her  door  to  inquire 
if  she  was  not  going  to  take  some  refreshments,  the  only 
reply  that  could  be  elicited  was,  that  she  had  a  headache, 
and  could  not  be  induced  to  eat  or  drink — spoken  through 
the  closed  door. 

"She's  been  having  a  row  with  that  sunflower  of  her's," 
was  Mr.  Quivey's  comment,  when  he  overheard  Mrs. 
Mason's  report  to  me,  made  in  an  undertone.  Truth  to  tell, 
Mr.  Quivey,  from  associating  so  much  with  theatrical  peo 
ple  in  the  capacity  of  playwright,  had  come  to  be  rather 
stagy  in  his  style  at  times.  "By  the  way,  he  was  not  on 
escort  duty  this  morning.  I  saw  her  proceeding  along 
Powell  street  alone,  and  anxiously  peering  up  and  down  all 
the  cross  streets,  evidently  on  the  lookout,  but  he  failed  to 
put  in  an  appearance." 

"Which  was  very  unkind  of  him,  if  she  expected  that 
he  would,"  put  in  Miss  Flower,  glancing  from  under  her 
long  lashes  at  the  speaker. 

"That  is  so,"  returned  Quivey;  "  for  the  fellow  does 
nothing  else,  I  do  believe,  but  play  lackey  to  Miss  Jorgen- 
sen;  and  if  that  is  his  sole  occupation,  he  ought  to  perform 
that  duty  faithfully.  I  do  not  see,  for  my  part,  how  he 
pays  his  way." 


MISS  JOI1GENSEN.  217 

"  Perhaps  it  pays  him  to  be  a  lackey,"  I  suggested,  re 
membering  what  I  had  once  overheard  between  them. 
Mrs.  Mason  gave  me  a  cautioning  glance,  which  she  need 
not  have  done,  for  I  had  no  intention  of  making  known 
Miss  Jorgensen's  secrets. 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Flower,  as  if  she  had  been  debating 
the  question  in  her  mind  for  some  time  previous,  "  I  doubt 
if  a  woman  can  love  a  man  who  submits  to  her  will  as  sub 
serviently  as  Mr.  Hurst  seems  to,  to  Miss  Jorgensen.  I 
know  some  women  could  not." 

"  By  which  you  mean  you  could  not,"  Mrs.  Mason  re 
turned,  smiling.  "I  do  not  see  that  the  case  need  be  very 
different  with  men.  Subserviency  never  won  anybody's 
respect  or  love  either.  Neither  does  willful  opposition, 
any  more.  Proper  self-respect  and  a  fair  share  of  self- 
love  is  more  sure  of  winning  admiration,  from  men  or 
women,  than  too  little  self-assertion  or  too  much." 

"But  where  the  self-assertion  is  all  on  one  side,  and  the 
self-abasenient  all  on  the  other — as  in  the  case  of  Miss 
Jorgensen  and  Mr.  Hurst — then  how  would  you  establish 
an  equilibrium,  Mrs.  Mason?" 

"It  establishes  itself  in  that  case,  I  should  say,"  clipped 
in  Mr.  Quivey.  "  Oil  and  Avater  do  not  mix,  but  each 
keeps  its  own  place  perfectly,  and  without  disturbance." 

I  do  not  know  how  long  this  conversation  might  have 
gone  on  in  this  half-earnest,  half-facetious  style,  with  Miss 
Jorgensen  for  its  object,  had  not  something  happened  just 
here  to  bring  it  abruptly  to  a  close;  and  that  something 
was  the  report  of  a  pistol  over  our  very  heads. 

"  Great  heaven  !"  ejaculated  Miss  Flower,  losing  all  her 
color  and  self-possession  together. 

"E.  E.,  as  I  live — she  has  shot  herself  !"  cried  Quivey, 
half  doubting,  half  convinced. 

I  caught  these  words  as  I  made  a  rapid  movement 
toward  the  staircase.  They  struck  me  as  so  undeniably 
true  that  I  never  hesitated  in  making  an  assault  upon  her 


218  MISS  JORGENSEN. 

door.  It  was  locked  on  the  inside,  and  I  could  bear  noth 
ing  except  a  faint  moaning  sound  within.  Fearing  the 
worst,  I  threw  my  whole  weight  and  strength  against  it, 
and  it  flew  open  with  a  crash.  There  lay  Miss  Jorgensen 
upon  the  floor,  in  the  middle  of  her  little  room,  uttering 
low  moaning  sobs,  though  apparently  not  unconscious.  I 
stooped  over  and  lifted  her  in  my  arms  to  lay  her  upon  the 
bed,  and  as  I  did  so,  a  small  pocket-pistol  fell  at  my  feet, 
and  I  discovered  blood  upon  the  carpet. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Jorgensen  had  certainly  shot  herself,  I  told 
Mrs.  Mason,  and  the  rest  who  crowded  after  us  into  the 
little  woman's  room;  but  whether  dangerously  or  not,  I 
could  not  say,  nor  whether  purposely  or  accidentally. 
Probably  not  dangerously,  as  she  was  already  making  signs 
to  me  to  exclude  people  from  the  apartment. 

"  You  had  better  bring  a  surgeon,"  I  said  to  Quiver,  who 
turned  away  muttering,  followed  by  Miss  Flower. 

With  Mrs.  Mason's  assistance,  I  soon  made  out  the  loca 
tion  of  the  wound,  which  was  in  the  flesh  of  the  upper 
part  of  the  left  arm,  and  consequently  not  so  alarming  as 
it  would  be  painful  during  treatment. 

"  Could  she  have  meant  to  shoot  herself  through  the 
heart,  and  failed  through  agitation?"  whispered  Mrs.  Mason 
to  me,  aside. 

"No,  no;  it  was  an  accident,"  murmured  the  victim, 
whose  quick  ear  had  caught  the  words.  "  I  did  not  mean 
to  shoot  myself." 

"Poor  child,  I  am  very  sorry  for  yon,"  returned  Mrs. 
Mason  gently,  whose  kind  heart  had  always  leaned  toward 
the  little  French  teacher,  in  spite  of  her  singular  ways. 
"  It  is  very  unfortunate;  but  you  shall  receive  careful  nurs 
ing  until  you  recover.  You  need  not  worry  about  yourself, 
but  try  to  bear  it  the  best  you  can." 

"O,  I  cannot  bear  it — I  muxt  be  well  to-morrow.  O, 
what  shall  I  do!"  moaned  Miss  Jorgensen.  "O,  that  this 
should  have  happened  to-night!"  And  momently,  after  this 


MISS  JO  KG  EN  SEN.  219 

thought  occurred  to  her,  her  restlessness  seemed  to  increase, 
until  the  surgeon  came  and  began  an  examination  of  the 
wound. 

While  this  was  going  on,  notwithstanding  the  sickening 
pain,  the  sufferer  seemed  anxious  only  about  the  opinion 
to  be  given  upon  the  importance  of  the  wound  as  interfer 
ing  with  her  usual  pursuits. 

When,  in  answer  to  a  direct  appeal,  she  was  told  that  it 
must  be  some  weeks  before  she  could  resume  going  out,  a 
fainting  fit  immediately  followed,  which  gave  us  no  little 
trouble  and  alarm. 

Before  taking  leave,  the  doctor  accompanied  me  to  my 
own  apartment  and  proceeded  to  question  me. 

"  What  is  the  history  of  the  case?"  said  he.  "Is  there 
anything  peculiar  in  the  life  or  habits  of  Miss  Jorgensen,  to 
account  for  her  great  anxiety  to  get  well  immediately?" 

"  She  fears  to  lose  her  classes,  I  presume;  and  there  may 
be  other  engagements  which  are  unknown  to  us."  I  still 
had  a  great  reluctance  to  saying  what  I  suspected  might  be 
troubling  Miss  Jorgensen. 

"  Neither  of  which  accounts  for  all  that  I  observe  in  her 
case,"  returned  the  doctor.  "What  are  her  connections? — 
has  she  any  family  ties — any  lover,  even?" 

"  I  believe  she  told  Mrs.  Mason  she  was  engaged  to  a 
young  man  who  calls  here  twice  a  week." 

"  Ah !  Do  you  know  where  this  young  man  is  to  be  found  ? 
It  might  be  best  to  communicate  with  him,  in  the  morn 
ing.  Possibly  he  may  be  able  to  dispel  this  anxious  fear  of 
hers,  from  whatever  cause  it  arises." 

I  promised  the  Doctor  to  speak  to  Mrs.  Mason  about  it, 
and  he  soon  after  took  leave,  having  first  satisfied  himself 
that  the  unlucky  pistol  was  incapable  of  doing  further  mis 
chief,  and  safely  hidden  from  Miss  Jorgensen. 

Naturally,  the  next  morning,  the  table-talk  turned  upon 
the  incident  of  the  evening  previous. 

"  She  need  not  tell  me  that  it  was  an  accident/'  Mr. 


220  MISS  JOBGENSEN. 

Qnivey  was  saying,  very  decidedly.  "  She  is  just  the  sort 
of  woman  for  desperate  remedies;  and  she  is  tired  of  living', 
with  that  vampire  friend  of  hers  draining  her  life-blood!" 

I  confess  I  felt  startled  by  the  correspondence  of  Quivey's 
opinion  with  my  own;  for  I  had  heretofore  believed  that  my 
self  and  Mrs.  Mason  were  the  only  persons  who  suspected 
that  Hurst  was  dependent  upon  Miss  Jorgensen  for  the 
means  of  living.  In  my  surprise  I  said:  "You  know  that 
he  does  this  ?' ' 

' '  I  know  that  Cray  croft  paid  him  yesterday  for  a  long- 
translation  done  by  Miss  Jorgeusen,  and  I  do  not  believe  he 
had  an  order  for  it,  other  than  verbal.  Cray  croft  seeing 
them  so  much  together,  paid  the  money,  and  took  a  re 
ceipt." 

"  Perhaps  he  paid  the  money  to  Mr.  Hurst  by  her  instruct 
ions,  for  her  own  use,"  suggested  Miss  Flower.  "But  then 
he  did  not  see  her  last  evening,  did  he  ?  I  hope  he  does 
not  rob  Miss  Jorgensen.  Such  a  delicate  little  woman  has 
enough  to  do  to  look  out  for  herself,  I  should  think." 

"One  thing  is  certain,"  interposed  Mrs.  Mason,  "Miss 
Jorgensen  does  what  she  does,  and  permits  what  she  per 
mits,  intelligently  ;  and  our  speculations  concerning  her 
affairs  will  not  produce  a  remedy  for  what  we  fancy  we  see 
wrong  in  them."  Which  hint  had  the  effect  of  silencing 
the  discussion  for  that  time. 

Before  I  left  the  house  that  morning,  I  had  a  consulta 
tion  with  Mrs.  Mason,  who  had  passed  the  night  in  attend 
ance  upon  Miss  Jorgensen,  and  who  had  informed  me  that 
she  had  been  very  restless,  in  spite  of  the  quieting  prescrip 
tion  left  by  the  doctor.  "  I  wish  you  would  go  up  and 
speak  to  her,"  Mrs.  Mason  said.  "Perhaps  you  can  do 
something  for  her  which  I  could  not;  and  I  am  sure  she 
needs  some  such  service." 

Thus  urged,  I  obeyed  an  impulse  of  my  own,  which  had 
been  to  do  this  very  thing.  \Vhen  I  tapped  softly  at  her 
door,  she  said,  "Come  in!"  in  a  pained  and  petulant  tone, 


MISS  JORGENSEN.  221 

as  if  any  interruption  was  wearisome  to  her;  but  when  she 
saw  who  it  was,  her  countenance  assumed  an  eager  and  ani 
mated  expression,  which  rewarded  me  at  once  for  the  effort 
I  was  making. 

"  Thank  you  for  coming  to  see  me,"  said  she  quickly.  "  I 
was  almost  on  the  point  of  sending  for  you."  Pausing  for 
a  moment,  while  her  eyes  searched  my  face,  she  continued: 
"  I  am  in  trouble,  which  cannot  be  all  explained,  and 
which  will  force  you,  if  you  do  a  service  forme,  to  take  me 
very  much  upon  trust;  but  I  will  first  assure  you  that  what 
you  may  do  for  me  will  not  involve  you  in  any  difficulty. 
More  than  this  I  cannot  now  say.  "Will  you  do  this  service 
for  me,  and  keep  your  agency  in  the  matter  secret  ?  The 
service  is  slight,  the  importance  of  secrecy  great." 

I  expressed  my  willingness  to  do  anything  which  would 
not  compromise  me  with  myself,  and  that,  I  told  her,  I  did 
not  fear  her  requiring. 

She  then  proceeded,  with  some  embarrassment,  to  say 
that  she  wished  a  note  conveyed  to  Mr.  Hurst;  upon  which 
I  smiled,  and  answered,  "  I  had  conjectured  as  much/' 

"  But  you  must  not  conjecture  anything,"  she  replied, 
with  some  asperity;  "  for  you  are  sure  to  go  wide  of  the 
truth.  You  think  I  have  only  to  send  for  Mr.  Hurst  to 
bring  him  here;  but  you  are  mistaken.  He  cannot  come, 
because  he  dare  not.  He  is  in  hiding,  but  I  cannot  tell 
you  why.  Only  do  not  betray  him;  I  ask  no  more.  You 
are  not  called  upon  to  do  any  more — to  do  anything  against 
him,  I  mean/3  Seeing  me  hesitate,  she  continued:  "  I  need 
not  tell  you  that  I  believe  my  life  is  in  your  hands.  I  have 
been  living  a  long  time  with  all  my  faculties  npon  a  severe 
strain,  so  severe  that  I  feel  I  shall  go  mad  if  the  pressure 
is  increased.  I  entreat  you  not  to  refuse  me/' 

"Very  well,"  I  answered,  "  I  will  do  what  you  require/' 

"  It  is  only  to  take  this" — she  pulled  a  note  from  beneath 
her  pillow,  addressed  to  "Mr.  Harry  Hurst,"  and  handed 
it  to  me—"  to  the  address,  which  you  will  have  no  difficulty 


222  MISS  JORGENSEN. 

in  finding,  though  I  am  sorry  to  have  to  send  you  on  a  walk 
so  out  of  your  way.  And  please  take  this  also''— handing 
me  a  roll  of  coin,  marked  $100.  No  answer  is  expected. 
Of  course,  you  will  not  give  these  things  to  any  one  but  Mr. 
Hurst.  That  is  all."  And  she  sunk  back  wearily  upon  her 
pillow,  with  closed  eyes,  as  if  she  had  no  further  interest 
in  the  affair. 

I  kuo\y  as  well  as  if  she  had  told  me  that  this  note  was  a 
warning  to  fly,  and  this  money  the   means  to  make  flight 
good.     I  had  promised  to  deliver  them  on  her  simple  en 
treaty  and  assurance  that  I  should  not  dishonor  myself. 
But  might  I  not  wrong  society?     Might  not  she  be  herself 
deceived  about  Hurst?     The  assertion  of    Quivey  that  he 
had   collected  money  from  her  employers  the  day   before 
occurred  to  me.     Did  she  know  it  or  not?     I  questioned, 
while  regarding  the  thin,  pale,  weary  face  on  the  pillow  be 
fore  me.  While  I  hesitated  she  opened  her  eyes  with  a  won 
dering,  impatient  gaze. 

"  Do  you  repent  !"  she  asked. 

"  I  deliberate,  rather,"  I  replied.  "I  chanced  to  learn 
yesterday,  that  Mr.  Hurst  had  drawn  money  from  Craycroft 
&  Co.,  and  was  thinking  that  if  you  knew  it,  you  might  not 
wish  to  send  this  also." 

For  an  instant  her  black  eyes  blazed  with  anger,  but 
whether  at  me  or  at  Mr.  Hurst  I  could  not  tell,  and  she 
seemed  to  hesitate,  as  I  had  done. 

"  Yes,  take  it/'  she  said,  with  hopeless  sadness  in  her  tone, 
"He  may  need  it;  and  for  myself,  what  does  it  matter 
now  ?" 

"  I  shall  do  as  you  bid  me,"  I  replied,  "  but  it  is  under 
protest;  for  it  is  my  impression  that  you  are  doing  yourself 
an  injury,  and  Mr.  Hurst  no  good." 

"  You  don't  understand,"  she  returned,  sharply.  "Now 
go,  please." 

II  Very  well;  I  am  gone.     But  I  promise  you  that  if  you 
exact  services  of  me,  I  shall  insist  on  your  taking  care  of 


MISS  JOROENSEN.  223 

your  health,  by  way  of  return.  You  are  in  a  fever  at  this 
moment,  which  I  warn  you  will  be  serious  if  not  checked. 
Here  comes  the  doctor.  Grood-morning." 

I  pass  over  the  trifling  incidents  of  my  visit  to  the  resi 
dence  of  Mr.  Hurst.  Suffice  to  say  that  Mr.  Hurst  had  de 
parted  to  parts  unknown,  and  that  I  had  to  carry  about  all 
day  Miss  Jorgensen's  letter  and  money.  On  returning 
home  to  dinner  that  afternoon,  I  found  a  stranger  occupying 
Miss  Jorgensen's  place  at  table.  He  was  a  shrewd-looking 
man  of  about  forty  years,  talkative,  versatile,  and  what  you 
might  call  "jolly."  Nothing  escaped  his  observation;  no 
thing  was  uttered  that  he  did  not  hear,  often  replying  most 
unexpectedly  to  what  was  not  iiitended  for  him — a  practice 
that  would  have  been  annoying  but  for  a  certain  tact  and 
good  humor  which  disarmed  criticism.  The  whole  family, 
while  admitting  that  our  new  day-boarder  was  not  exactly 
congenial,  confessed  to  liking  his  amusing  talk  immensely. 

"He  quite  brightens  us  up;  don't  you  think  so,  Mr. 
Quivey  ?  "  was  Miss  Flower's  method  of  indorsing  him. 

"  He  does  very  well  just  now,"  replied  Quivey,  "  though 
I'd  lots  rather  see  E.  E.  back  in  that  place.  When  one 
gets  used  to  pickles  or  pepper,  one  wants  pickles  or  pep 
per;  honey  palls  on  the  appetite." 

"I  thought  you  had  almost  too  much  pepper  sometimes," 
said  Miss  Flower,  remembering  the  "  I.  I." 

"  It's  a  healthful  stimulant,"  returned  Quivey,  ignoring 
the  covert  reminder. 

"  But  not  always  an  agreeable  one." 

I  suspected  that  Miss  Flower,  who  had  an  intense  ad 
miration  for  dramatic  talent,  entertained  her  own  reasons 
for  jogging  Mr.  Quivey 's  memory;  and  being  willing  to 
give  her  every  opportunity  to  promote  her  own  views,  I 
took  this  occasion  to  make  my  report  to  Miss  Jorgensen. 
As  might  have  been  expected,  she  had  been  feverishly  an 
ticipating  my  visit.  I  had  no  sooner  entered  the  room  than 
she  uttered  her  brief  interrogation : 


224  MfM  JORQENSEN. 

"Well?" 

I  laid  the  note  and  the  money  upon  the  bed.  "  You  see 
how  it  is  ?  "  I  said. 

"He  is  gone?" 

"Yes." 

"I  am  so  very  glad!"  she  said,  with  emphasis,  while 
something  like  a  smile  lighted  up  her  countenance.  "  This 
gives  me  a  respite,  at  least.  If  he  is  prudent " — she  checked 
herself,  and  giving  me  a  grateful  glance,  exclaimed,  "  I  am 
so  much  obliged  to  you." 

"Nobody  could  be  more  welcome,  I  am  sure,  to  so  slight 
a  service.  I  shall  hope  now  to  see  you  getting  well." 

"  O,  yes,"  she  answered,  "  I  must  get  well;  there  is  so 
much  to  do.  But  iny  classes  and  iny  writing  must  be 
dropped  for  a  while,  I  presume,  unless  the  doctor  will  let 
me  take  in  some  of  my  scholars,  for,  of  course,  I  cannot  go 
out." 

"  Yrour  arm  must  begin  to  heal  before  you  can  think  of 
teaching,  ever  so  little.  I  have  an  idea,  Miss  Jorgensen, 
from  what  you  have  said  of  yourself,  that  this  necessity  for 
repose,  which  is  forced  upon  you,  will  prove  to  be  an  ex 
cellent  thing.  Certainly,  you  were  wearing  out  very  fast 
with  your  incessant  labor. " 

"Perhaps  so — I  mean,  perhaps  inforced  rest  will  not  be 
bad  for  me;  but,  O,  there  is  such  need  to  work!  I  can  so 
poorly  afford  to  be  idle. " 

"  What  you  say  relieves  my  mind  of  a  suspicion,  which 
at  first  I  harbored,  that  the  firing  of  that  mischievous  pistol 
was  not  wholly  accidental.  I  now  see  you  wish  to  live  and 
work.  But  why  had  you  such  a  weapon  about  you?  Are 
you  accustomed  to  fire-arms?" 

"  The  mischief  this  one  did  me  shows  that  I  am  not;  and 
my  having  it  about  me  came  from  a  fear  I  had  of  its  doing 
worse  mischief  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Hurst." 

"  Are  affairs  so  desperate  with  him?" 

"  Please  don't  question  me.     I  cannot  answer  you  satis- 


MISS  JORGENSEN.  225 

factorily.  Mr.  Hurst  is  in  trouble,  and  the  least  that  is 
said  or  known  about  him  is  the  best.  And  yet  you  wonder, 
no  doubt,  that  I  should  interest  myself  about  a  man  who  is 
compelled  to  act  the  part  of  a  culprit.  "Well,  I  cannot  tell 
you  why  at  present;  and  it  would  be  a  great  relief  to  know 
that  you  thought  nothing  more  about  it."  This  last  she 
uttered  rather  petulantly,  which  warned  me  that  this  con 
versation  was  doing  her  no  good. 

"  Believe,  then/'  I  said,  "  that  I  have  no  interest  in  your 
affairs,  except  the  wish  to  promote  your  welfare.  And  I 
think  I  may  venture  to  affirm  that  everybody  in  the  house 
is  equally  at  your  service  when  you  wish  to  command  him 
or  her." 

"  Thank  you  all;  but  I  do  not  deserve  your  kindness;  I 
have  been  so  ill-tempered.  The  truth  is  I  cannot  afford  to 
have  friends;  friends  pry  into  one's  affairs  so  mercilessly. 
Mrs.  Mason  tells  me  there  is  a  new  boarder,"  she  said,  sud 
denly  changing  the  subject. 

I  assented,  and  gave  what  I  intended  to  be  an  amusing- 
account  of  the  new-comers's  conversation  and  manners. 

"Was  there  anything  said  about  me  at  dinner?"  she 
asked,  with  a  painful  consciousness  of  the  opinion  I  might 
have  of  such  a  question. 

"I  do  not  think  there  was.  We  were  all  so  taken  up 
with  the  latest  acquisition  that  we  forgot  you  for  the  time." 

"  May  I  ask  this  favor  of  you,  to  keep  the  conversation 
away  from  me  as  much  as  possible  ?  I  am  morbidly  sen 
sitive,  I  presume,"  she  said,  with  a  poor  attempt  at  a  smile, 
"  and  I  cannot  keep  from  fancying,  while  I  lie  here,  what 
you  are  saying  about  me  in  the  dining-room  or  parlor." 

Of  course,  I  hastened  to  disavow  any  disposition  on  the 
part  of  the  family  to  make  her  a  subject  of  conversation, 
and  even  promised  to  discountenance  any  reference  to  her 
whatever,  if  thereby  she  would  be  made  more  comfortable; 
after  which  I  bade  her  good-night,  having  received  tbe  as- 

15 


226  J/AS'S  JORGENSEN. 

surance  that  my  visit  had  relieved  her  mind  of  several  tor 
turing  apprehensions. 

The  more  I  saw  and  thought  of  Miss  Jorgensen,  the  more 
she  interested  and  puzzled  me.  I  should  have  inclined  to 
the  opinion  that  she  was  a  little  disturbed  at  times  in  her 
intellect,  had  it  not  been  that  there  was  apparent  so  much 
"  method  in  her  madness;"  this  reflection  always  bringing 
me  back  at  last  to  the  conclusion  that  her  peculiarities 
could  all  be  accounted  for  upon  the  hypothesis  she  herself 
presented;  too  much  work  and  some  great  anxiety.  The 
spectacle  of  this  human  mite  fighting  the  battle  of  life,  not 
oiil}'  for  herself  but  for  the  strong  man  who  should  have 
been  her  protector,  worked  so  upon  my  imagination  and 
my  sympathy  that  I  found  it  difficult  to  keep  the  little  wo 
man  out  of  my  thoughts. 

I  kept  my  word  to  her,  discountenancing,  as  far  as  I 
could,  the  discussion  of  her  affairs,  and  in  this  effort  Mrs. 
Mason  co-operated  with  me;  but  it  was  practically  impossi 
ble  to  prevent  the  inquiries  and  remarks  of  those  of  the 
family  who  were  not  so  well  informed  concerning  her  as  we 
were.  The  new  boarder,  also,  with  that  quick  apprehen 
sion  he  had  of  every  subject,  had  caught  enough  to  become 
interested  in  the  patient  up-stairs,  and  daily  made  some  in 
quiries  concerning  her  condition,  and,  as  it  appeared  to  me 
— grown  a  little  morbid,  like  Miss  Jorgensen — was  peculiarly 
adroit  in  extracting  information. 

Three  weeks  slipped  away,  and  Miss  Jorgensen  had 
passed  the  most  painful  period  of  suppuration  and  healing 
in  her  arm,  and  had  promised  to  come  down-stairs  next  day 
to  dine  with  the  family.  Mrs.  Mason  had  just  communi 
cated  the  news  to  us  in  her  cheeriest  tones,  as  if  each  in 
dividual  was  interested  in  it,  and  was  proceeding  to  turn 
out  our  coffee,  when  a  servant  brought  in  the  letters  for  the 
house  and  laid  them  beside  the  tray,  directly  under  the  eye 
of  the  new  boarder,  who  sat  on  the  landlady's  left. 

"  'Miss  Jorgensen,"  said  he,  reading  the  address  of  the 


MISS  JORGENSEN.  227 

topmost  one.  CCA  very  peculiar  handwriting."  Then  tak 
ing  up  the  letter,  as  if  to  further  examine  the  writing,  I  ob 
served  that  he  was  studying  the  postmark  as  well,  which, 
being  offended  at  his  unmannerly  curiosity,  I  sincerely 
hoped  was  illegible.  But  that  it  was  only  too  fatally  plain 
will  soon  appear. 

"With  an  air  of  hauteur  I  seldom  assumed,  I  recalled  the 
servant,  and  ordered  the  letter  to  be  taken  at  once  to  Miss 
Jorgensen.  Before  leaving  the  house  I  was  informed  that 
Miss  Jorgensen  wished  to  speak  to  me. 

"  Mr.  Hurst  has  done  a  most  imprudent  thing!"  she  ex 
claimed,  the  moment  I  was  inside  the  door.  "  I  ought^  to 
have  published  a  '  personal/  or  done  something  to  let  him 
know  I  could  not  go  to  the  post-office,  and  to  account  for 
his  not  hearing  from  me." 

"  He  has  returned  to  the  city?" 

"Yes!"  She  fairly  ground  her  teeth  with  rage  at  this 
"  stupidity,"  as  she  termed  it.  "  He  always  does  the  very 
thing  he  ought  never  to  have  done,  and  leaves  undone  the 
things  most  important  to  do.  Of  course  he  cannot  come 
here,  and  I  can  not  go  to  him  without  incurring  the 
greatest  risk.  I  really  do  not  know  what  to  do  next." 

Tears  were  now  coursing  down  her  pale  cheeks — tears,  it 
seemed,  as  much  of  anger  as  of  sorrow. 

"Let  him  take  care  of  himself/'  I  said,  rather  hotly. 
"  It  is  not  your  province  to  care  for  him  as  you  do." 

She  gave  me  an  indescribable  look.  "What  can  you, 
what  can  any  one  know  about  it?  He  may  want  money; 
how  can  he  take  care  of  himself  in  such  circumstances 
without  money  ?  I  sent  for  you  to  contrive  some  plan  by 
which  he  can  be  communicated  with.  Do  tell  me  at  once 
what  to  do." 

"  How  can  I  tell  you,  when,  as  you  say,  I  do  not  know 
what  is  required.  You  wish  to  see  him,  I  presume?" 

"  How  can  I — O,  I  dislike  so  much  to  ask  this  of  you — 
but  will  you  take  a  message  to  him  ?"  She  asked  this  des 
perately,  half  expecting  me  to  decline,  as  decline  I  did. 


228  MISS  JORGENSEN. 

"  Miss  Jorgensen,  you  are  now  able  to  ride.  Shall  I 
send  a  carriage  for  you  ?" 

"  There  may  be  those  on  the  lookout  who  would  instantly 
suspect  my  purpose  in  going  out  in  that  way.  On  the  con 
trary,  nobody  would  suspect  you." 

"  Still,  I  might  be  observed,  which  would  not  be  pleas 
ant,  I  can  imagine,  from  what  you  leave  me  to  surmise. 
No,  Miss  Jorgensen,  much  as  I  should  like  to  serve  you 
personally,  you  must  excuse  me  from  connecting  myself  in 
any  way  with  Mr.  Hurst;  and  if  I  might  be  allowed  to  offer 
advice,  I  should  say  that,  in  justice  to  yourself,  you  ought 
to  cut  loose  from  him  at  once." 

Miss  Jorgensen  covered  her  face  with  one  little  emaciated 
hand,  and  sat  silent  a  few  seconds.  "  Send  me  the  car 
riage,"  she  said,  "  and  I  will  go." 

"You  forgive  me?" 

"You  have  been  very  good,"  she  said.  "I  ought  not 
have  required  more  of  you.  I  will  go  at  once;  the  sooner 
the  better." 

"When  I  had  reached  the  head  of  the  stairs,  I  turned  back 
again  to  her  door. 

"  Once  more  let  me  counsel  you  to  free  yourself  from  all 
connection  with  Mr.  Hurst.  Why  should  you  ruin  your 
chances  of  happiness  for  one  so  undeserving,  as  I  must 
think  he  is  ?  Keep  away  from  him ;  let  him  shift  for  him 
self." 

"You  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about,''  she  re 
plied,  with  a  touch  of  the  old  fierceness.  "I  have  no 
chances  of  happiness  to  lose.  Please  go." 

On  my  way  down  to  the  office  I  ordered  a  carriage. 

What  happened  afterward  I  learned  from  Mrs.  Mason 
and  the  evening  papers.  Miss  Jorgensen,  dressed  in  deep 
black,  with  her  face  veiled,  entered  the  carriage,  directing 
the  driver  to  take  her  to  the  houses  of  some  of  her  pupils. 
At  the  corner  of  the  street,  a  gentleman,  who  proved  to  be 
our  day-boarder,  got  upon  the  box  with  the  driver,  and  re- 


MISS  JORGENSEN.  229 

mained  there  while  Miss  Jorgensen  made  her  calls.  Find 
ing  him  constantly  there,  and  becoming  suspicious,  she 
ordered  the  carriage  home,  and  gave  directions  to  have  it 
return  an  hour  later  to  take  her  down  town  for  some  shop 
ping.  At  the  time  set,  the  carriage  was  in  attendance,  and 
conveyed  her  to  one  of  the  principal  stores  in  the  city. 
After  re-entering  the  carriage,  and  giving  her  directions, 
our  day-boarder  once  more  mounted  the  box,  though  unob 
served  by  her,  and  was  conveyed  with  herself  to  the  hiding- 
place  of  Mr.  Hurst,  contriving,  by  getting  down  before  the 
door  was  opened,  to  elude  her  observation. 

Another  carriage,  containing  officers  of  the  police,  \vas 
following  in  the  wake  of  this  one,  and  drew  up  when  Miss 
Jorgensen  had  entered  the  house  where  Hurst  was  con 
cealed.  After  waiting  long  enough  to  make  it  certain  that 
the  person  sought  was  within,  the  officers  entered  to  search 
and  capture. 

At  the  moment  they  entered  Hurst's  apartment,  he  was 
saying,  with  much  emotion,  "If  I  can  only  reach  China  in 
safety,  a  way  will  be  opened  for  me " 

"  Hush!"  cried  Miss  Jorgensen,  seeing  the  door  opened, 
and  by  whom. 

"All  is  over!"  exclaimed  Hurst.  "  I  will  never  be  taken 
to  prison!"  And,  drawing  a  revolver,  he  deliberately  shot 
himself  through  the  head. 

Miss  Jorgensen  was  brought  back  to  Mrs.  Mason's  in  a 
fainting  condition,  and  was  ill  for  weeks  afterward.  That 
same  evening  our  day-boarder  called,  and  while  settling  his 
board  with  Mrs.  Mason,  acknowledged  that  he  belonged 
to  the  detective  police,  and  had  for  months  been  "  working 
up  "  the  case  of  a  bank-robber  and  forger  who  had  escaped 
from  one  of  the  eastern  cities,  and  been  lost  to  observation 
for  a  year  and  a  half. 

And  we  further  learned  in  the  same  way,  and  ultimately 
from  the  lady  herself,  that  Miss  Jorgensen  was  a  myth,  and 
that  the  little  French  teacher  was  Madame ,  who  had 


230  -1//-^  JO  RG  EN  SEN. 

suffered,  and  toiled,  and  risked  everything  for  her  un 
worthy  husband,  and  who  deserved  rather  to  be  congratu 
lated  than  condoled  with  upon  his  loss. 

It  is  now  a  year  since  all  this  happened,  and  it  is  the  com 
mon  gossip  of  our  boarding-house  that  Mr.  Quivey  is  de 
voted  to  the  little  dark-eyed  widow;  and  although  Miss 
Flower  still  refers  to  "  E.  E."  and  "I.  I.,"  nobody  seems 
to  be  in  the  least  disturbed  by  the  allusion.  When  I  say 
to  Quivey,  "Make  haste  slowly,  my  clear  fellow;"  he  re 
turns:  "Never  fear,  my  friend;  I  shall  know  when  the 
time  comes  to  speak, " 


SAM  RICE'S  ROMANCE.  231 


SAM    RICE'S    ROMANCE. 

coach  of  Wells,  Fargo  &  Co.  stood  before  the 
JL  door  of  Piney-woods  Station,  and  Sam  Rice,  the 
driver,  was  drawing  on  his  lemon-colored  gloves  with  an 
air,  for  Sam  was  the  pink  of  stage-drivers,  from  his  high 
white  hat  to  his  faultless  French  boots.  Sad  will  it  be 
when  his  profession  shall  have  been  altogether  superseded; 
and  the  coach-and-six,  with  its  gracious  and  graceful 
"whip, "shall  have  been  supplanted,  on  all  the  principal 
lines  of  travel,  by  the  iron-horse  with  its  grimy  "driver" 
and  train  of  thundering  carriages. 

The  passengers  had  taken  their  seats — the  one  lady  on 
the  box — and  Sam  Rice  stood,  chronometer  held  daintily 
between  thumb  and  finger,  waiting  for  the  second  hand  to 
come  round  the  quarter  of  a  minute,  while  the  grooms 
slipped  the  last  strap  of  the  harness  into  its  buckle.  At 
the  expiration  of  the  quarter  of  a  minute,  as  Sam  stuck  an 
unlighted  cigar  between  his  lips  and  took  hold  of  the  box 
to  pull  himself  up  to  his  seat,  the  good-natured  landlady 
of  Piney-woods  Station  called  out,  with  some  omciousness: 

"Mr.  Rice,  don't  you  want  a  match?" 

"That's  just  what  I've  been  looking  for  these  ten  years," 
responded  Sam;  and  at  that  instant  his  eyes  were  on  a  level 
with  the  lady's  on  the  box,  so  that  he  could  not  help  seeing 
the  roguish  glint  of  them,  which  so  far  disconcerted  the 
usually  self-possessed  professor  of  the  whip  that  he  heard 
not  the  landlady's  laugh,  but  gathered  up  the  reins  in  such 
a  hasty  and  careless  manner  as  to  cause  Demon,  the  nigh- 
leader,  to  go  off  with  a  bound  that  nearly  threw  the  owner 
of  the  eyes  out  of  her  place.  The  little  flurry  gave  oppor 
tunity  for  Mrs.  Dolly  Page — that  was  the  lady's  name — to 
drop  her  veil  over  her  face,  and  for  Sam  Rice  to  show  his 


232  SAM  RICKS  ROMANCE. 

genteel  handling-  of   the  ribbons,  and  conquer  the   unac 
countable  disturbance  of  his  pulses. 

Sam  had  looked  at  the  way-bill,  not  ten  minutes  before, 
to  ascertain  the  name  of  the  pretty  black-eyed  woman  seated 
at  his  left  hand;  and  the  consciousness  of  so  great  a  cu 
riosity  gratified,  may  have  augmented  his  unaccustomed 
embarrassment.  Certain  it  is,  Sam  Kice  had  driven  six 
horses,  on  a  ticklish  mountain  road,  for  four  years,  with 
out  missing  a  trip;  and  had  more  than  once  encountered 
the  "road-agents,"  without  ever  yet  delivering  them  an  ex 
press  box;  had  had  old  and  young  ladies,  plain  and  beautiful 
ones,  to  sit  beside  him,  hundreds  of  times:  yet  this  was  the 
first  time  he  had  consulted  the  way-bill,  on  his  own  account, 
to  find  a  lady's  name.  This  one  time,  too,  it  had  a  Mrs. 
before  it,  which  prefix  gave  him  a  pang  he  was  very  unwill 
ing  to  own.  On  the  other  hand,  Mrs.  Dolly  Page  was  clad 
in  extremely  deep  black.  Could  she  be  in  mourning  for 
Mr.  Page  ?  If  Demon  had  an  unusual  number  of  starting 
fits  that  afternoon,  his  driver  was  not  altogether  guiltless 
in  the  matter;  for  what  horse,  so  sensitive  as  he,  would  not 
have  felt  the  magnetism  of  something  wrong  behind  him  ? 

But  as  the  mocking  eyes  kept  hidden  behind  a  veil,  and 
the  rich,  musical  voice  uttered  not  a  word  through  a  whole 
half-hour,  which  seemed  an  age  to  Sam,  he  finally  recovered 
himself  so  far  as  to  say  he  believed  he  would  not  smoke, 
after  all;  and  thereupon  returned  the  cigar,  still  unlighted, 
to  his  pocket. 

"  I  hope  you  do  not  deprive  yourself  of  a  luxury  on  my 
account/'  murmured  the  soft  voice. 

' '  I  guess  this  dust  and  sunshine  is  enough  for  a  lady  to 
stand,  without  my  smokin'  in  her  face,"  returned  Sam, 
politely,  and  glancing  at  the  veil. 

"Still,  I  beg  you  will  smoke,  if  you  are  accustomed," 
persisted  the  cooing  voice  behind  it.  But  Sam,  to  his 
praise  be  it  spoken,  refused  to  add  anything  to  the  discom 
forts  of  a  summer  day's  ride  across  the  mountains.  His 


SAM  RICE'S  ROMANCE.  233 

chivalry  had  its  reward;  for  the  lady  thus  favored,  feeling- 
constrained  to  make  some  return  for  such  consideration, 
began  to  talk,  in  a  vein  that  delighted  her  auditor,  about 
horses — their  points  and  their  traits — and,  lastly,  about 
their  drivers. 

"I  have  always  fancied,"  said  Mrs.  Dolly  Page,  "  that  if 
I  were  a  man  I  should  take  to  stage-driving  as  a  profession. 
It  seems  to  me  a  free  and  manly  calling,  one  that  develops 
some  of  the  best  qualities  of  a  man.  Of  course,  it  has  its 
drawbacks.  One  cannot  always  choose  one's  society  on  a 
stage,  and  there  are  temptations  to  bad  habits.  Besides, 
there  are  storms,  and  upsets,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
I've  often  thought,"  continued  Mrs.  Dolly,  "that  we  do 
not  consider  enough  the  hardships  of  drivers,  nor  what  we 
owe  them.  You've  read  that  poem — the  Post-boy's  Song: 

"  '  Like  a  shuttle  thrown  l>y  the  hand  of  Fate, 
Forward  and  back  I  go.' 

Well,  it  is  just  so.  They  do  bring  us  our  letters,  full  of 
good  and  ill  news,  helping  to  weave  the  web  of  Fate  for 
us;  yet  not  to  blame  for  what  tidings  they  bring,  and  al 
ways  faithful  to  their  duties,  in  storm  or  shine." 

"  I  shall  like  my  profession  better  after  what  you  have 
said  of  it,"  answered  Sam,  giving  his  whip  a  curl  to  make 
it  touch  the  off-leader's  right  ear.  "I've  done  my  duty 
mostly,  and  not  complained  of  the  hardships,  though  once 
or  twice  I've  been  too  beat  out  to  get  off  the  box  at  the  end 
of  my  drive;  but  that  was  in  a  long  spell  of  bad  weather, 
when  the  roads  was  just  awful,  and  the  rain  as  cold  as 
snow. " 

""Would  you  mind  letting  me  hold  the  lines  awhile?" 
asked  the  cooing  voice,  at  last.  "  I've  driven  a  six-iii-hand 
before." 

Though  decidedly  startled,  and  averse  to  trusting  his 
team  to  such  a  pair  of  hands,  Sam  was  compelled,  by  the 
psychic  force  of  the  little  woman,  to  yield  up  the  reins.  It 


234  SAM  RICKS  ROMANCE. 

was  with  fear  and  trembling  that  he  watched  her  handling 
of  them  for  the  first  mile;  but,  as  she  really  seemed  to 
know  what  she  was  about,  his  confidence  increased,  and  he 
watched  her  with  admiration.  Her  veil  was  now  up,  her 
eyes  were  sparkling,  and  cheeks  glowing.  She  did  not 
speak  often,  but,  when  she  did,  it  was  always  something 
piquant  and  graceful  that  she  uttered.  At  last,  just  as  the 
station  was  in  sight,  she  yielded  up  the  lines,  with  a  deep- 
drawn  sigh  of  satisfaction,  apologizing  for  it  by  saying  that 
her  hands,  not  being  used  to  it,  were  tired.  "I'm  not 
sure,"  she  added,  "  but  I  shall  take  to  the  box,  at  last,  as  a 
steady  thing." 

"If  you  do,"  responded  Sam,  gallantly,  "I  hope  you 
will  drive  on  my  line." 

"Thanks.  1  shall  ask  you  for  a  reference,  when  I  apply 
for  the  situation." 

There  was  then  a  halt,  a  supply  of  fresh  horses,  and  a 
prompt,  lively  start.  But  the  afternoon  was  intensely  hot, 
and  the  team  soon  sobered  down.  Mrs.  Page  did  not  offer 
again  to  take  the  lines.  She  was  overwarm  and  weary,  per 
haps,  quiet  and  a  little  sad ,  at  any  rate.  Mr.  Kice  was  quiet, 
too,  and  thoughtful.  The  passengers  inside  were  asleep- 
The  coach  rattled  along  at  a  steady  pace,  with  the  dust  so 
deep  under  the  wheels  as  to  still  their  rumble.  At  inter 
vals,  a  freight-wagon  was  passed,  drawn  to  one  side,  at  a 
"  turn-out,"  or  a  rabbit  skipped  across  the  road,  or  a  soli 
tary  horseman  suggested  alternately  a  "road-agent,"  or 
one  of  James's  heroes.  Grand  views  presented  themselves 
of  wooded  cliffs  and  wild  ravines.  Tall  pines  threw 
lengthening  shadows  across  the  open  spaces  011  the  mount 
ain-sides.  And  so  the  afternoon  wore  away;  and,  when 
the  sun  was  setting,  the  passengers  alighted  for  their 
supper  at  the  principal  hotel  of  Lucky-dog — a  mining- 
camp,  pretty  well  up  in  the  Sierras. 

"We  both  stop  here,"  said  Sam,  as  he  helped  the  lady 
down  from  her  high  position;  letting  her  know  by  this  re 
mark  that  her  destination  was  known  to  him. 


SAM  RICE'S  BO  MANGE.  235 

"  I'm  rather  glad  of  that,"  she  answered,  frankly,  with  a 
little  smile;  and,  considering  all  that  had  transpired  on 
that  long  drive,  Sam  was  certainty  pardonable  if  he  felt  al 
most  sure  that  her  reason  for  being  glad  was  identical  with 
his  own. 

Lucky- dog  was  one  of  those  shambling,  new  camps,  where 
one  street  serves  for  a  string  on  which  two  or  three  dozen 
ill-assorted  tenements  are  strung,  every  fifth  one  being  a 
place  intended  for  the  relief  of  the  universal  American 
thirst,  though  the  liquids  dispensed  at  these  beneficent  in 
stitutions  were  observed  rather  to  provoke  than  to  abate  the 
dryness  of  their  patrons.  Eating-houses  were  even  more 
frequent  than  those  which  dispensed  moisture  to  parched 
throats;  so  that,  taking  a  cursory  view  of  the  windows 
fronting  on  the  street,  the  impression  was  inevitably  con 
veyed  of  the  expected  rush  of  famished  armies,  whose  wants 
this  charitable  community  were  only  too  willing  to  supply  for 
a  sufficient  consideration.  The  houses  that  were  not  eating 
and  drinking-houses  were  hotels,  if  we  except  occasional 
grocery  and  general  merchandise  establishments.  Into 
what  out-of-the-way  corners  the  inhabitants  were  stowed,  it 
was  impossible  to  conjecture,  until  it  wras  discovered  that 
the  men  lived  at  the  places  already  inventoried,  and  that 
women  abode  not  at  all  in  Lucky-dog — or  if  there  were  any, 
not  more  than  a  half  a  dozen  of  them,  and  they  lived  in  un 
accustomed  places. 

The  advent  of  Mrs.  Page  at  the  Silver  Brick  Hotel  nat 
urally  made  a  sensation.  As  assemblage  of  not  less  than 
fifty  gentlemen  of  leisure  crowded  about  the  entrance,  each 
more  intent  than  the  other  on  getting  a  look  at  the  arrivals, 
and  especially  at  this  one  arrival — whose  age,  looks,  name, 
business,  and  intentions  in  coming  to  Lucky-dog,  were  dis 
cussed  with  great  freedom.  Sam  Rice  was  closely  ques 
tioned,  but  proved  reticent  and  non-committal.  The  laud- 
lord  was  besieged  with  inquiries — the  landlady,  too — and 
all  without  anybody  being  made  much  the  wiser.  There 


236  SAM  RICE'S  ROMANCE. 

was  the  waybill,  and  there  was  the  lady  herself;  put  that 
and  that  together,  and  make  what  you  could  of  it. 

Mrs.  Dolly  Page  did  not  seem  discomposed  in  the  least 
by  the  evident  interest  she  inspired.  With  her  black  curls 
smoothly  brushed,  her  black  robes  immaculately  neat,  with 
a  pretty  color  in  her  round  cheeks,  and  a  quietly  absorbed 
expression  in  her  whole  bearing,  she  endured  the  concen 
trated  gaze  of  fifty  pairs  of  eyes  during  the  whole  of  dinner, 
without  so  much  as  one  awkward  movement,  or  the  drop 
ping  of  a  fork  or  teaspoon.  So  it  was  plain  that  the  curious 
would  be  compelled  to  await  Mrs.  Page's  own  time  for  de 
velopments. 

But  developments  did  not  seem  likely  to  come  over 
whelmingly.  Mrs.  Page  made  a  fast  friend  of  the  landlady 
of  the  Silver  Brick,  by  means  of  little  household  arts  pecul 
iarly  her  own,  and,  before  a  fortnight  wTas  gone,  had  be 
come  as  indispensable  to  all  the  boarders  as  she  was  to  Mrs. 
Shaughnessy  herself.  If  she  had  a  history,  she  kept  it 
carefully  from  curious  ears.  Mrs.  Shaughnessy  was  evi 
dently  satisfied,  and  quite  challenged  criticism  of  her  favor 
ite.  Indeed,  there  was  nothing  to  criticise.  It  was  gener 
ally  understood  that  she  was  a  widow,  who  had  to  get 
on  in  the  world  as  best  she  could,  and  thus  the  public 
sympathy  was  secured,  and  an  embargo  laid  upon  gos 
sip.  To  be  sure,  there  were  certain  men  in  Lucky-dog, 
of  a  class  which  has  its  representatives  everywhere,  who 
regarded  all  unappropriated  women,  especially  pretty 
women,  very  much  as  the  hunter  regards  game,  and  the 
more  difficult  the  approach,  the  more  exciting  the  chase. 
But  these  moral  Nimrods  had  not  half  the  chance  with  self- 
possessed  Mrs.  Dolly  Page  that  they  would  have  had  with 
a  different  style  of  woman.  The  grosser  sort  got  a  sudden 
conge;  and  with  the  more  refined  sportsmen  she  coquetted 
just  enough  to  show  them  that  two  could  play  at  a  game  of 
"  make-believe,"  and  then  sent  them  off  with  a  lofty  scorn 
edifying  to  behold — to  the  mingled  admiration  and  amuse 
ment  of  Mrs.  Shaughnessy. 


SAM  RICE'S  ROMANCE.  237 

The  only  affair  which  seemed  to  have  a  kernel  of  serious 
ness  in  it,  was  that  of  Mr.  Samuel  Eice.  Begularly,  when 
the  stage  was  in,  on  Sam's  night,  he  paid  his  respects  to 
Mrs.  Page.  And  Mrs.  Page  always  received  him  with  a 
graceful  friendliness,  asking  after  the  horses,  and  even 
sometimes  going  so  far  as  to  accompany  him  to  their  sta 
bles.  On  these  occasions  she  never  failed  to  carry  several 
lumps  of  sugar  in  her  pocket,  which  she  fed  to  the  hand 
some  brutes  off  her  own  pink  palm,  until  there  was  not  one 
of  them  she  could  not  handle  at  her  will. 

Thus  passed  many  weeks,  until  summer  was  drawing  to  a 
close.  Two  or  three  times  she  had  gone  down  to  Piney- 
woods  Station  and  back,  on  Sam's  coach,  and  always  sat  on 
the  box,  and  drove  a  part  of  the  way,  but  never  where  her 
driving  would  excite  remark.  It  is  superfluous  to  state, 
that  on  these  occasions  there  was  a  happy  heart  beneath 
Sam's  linen-duster,  or  that  the  bantering  remarks  of  his 
brother-drivers  were  borne  with  smiling  equanimity,  not  to 
say  pride;  for  Sam  wras  well  aware  that  Mrs.  Dolly  Page's 
brunette  beauty,  and  his  blonde-bearded  style,  together  fur 
nished  a  not  unpleasing  tableau  of  personal  charms.  Be 
sides,  Sam's  motto  was,  "Let  those  laugh  who  win;"  and 
he  seemed  to  himself  to  be  on  the  road  to  heights  of  happi 
ness  beyond  the  ken  of  ordinary  mortals — especially  ordi 
nary  stage -drivers. 

"  I  don't  calkelate  to  drive  stage  more  than  a  year  or  two 
longer,"  Sam  said  to  Mrs.  Page,  confidentially,  on  the  re 
turn  from  their  last  trip  together  to  Piney-woods  Station. 
"  I've  got  a  little  place  down  in  Amador,  and  an  interest 
in  the  Nip-and-tuck  gold-mine,  besides  a  few  hundreds  in 
bank.  I've  a  notion  to  settle  down  some  day,  in  a  cottage 
with  vines  over  the  porch,  with  a  little  woman  to  tend  the 
flowers  in  the  front-garden." 

As  if  Sam's  heightened  color  and  shining  eyes  had  not 
sufficiently  pointed  this  confession  of  his  desires,  it  chanced 
that  at  this  moment  the  eyes  of  both  were  attracted  to  a 


238  tf^LT/  RICE'S  ROMANCE. 

way-side  picture:  a  cottage,  a  flower-bordered  walk,  a  fair 
young  woman  standing  at  the  gate,  with  a  crowing  babe  in 
her  arms  lifting  its  little  white  hands  to  the  sun-browned 
face  of  a  stalwart  young  farmer  who  was  smiling  proudly  on 
the  two.  At  this  sudden  apparition  of  his  inmost  thoughts, 
Sam's  heart  gave  a  great  bound,  and  there  was  a  simultane 
ous  ringing  in  his  ears.  His  first  instinctive  act  was  to 
crack  his  whip  so  fiercely  as  to  set  the  leaders  off  prancing; 
and  when,  by  this  diversion,  he  had  partly  recovered  self- 
possession  to  glance  at  the  face  of  his  companion,  a  new 
embarrassment  seized  him  when  he  discovered  two  little 
rivers  of  tears  running  over  the  crimsoned  cheeks.  But  a 
coach-box  is  not  a  convenient  place  for  sentiment  to  dis 
play  itself;  and,  though  the  temptation  was  great  to  inquire 
into  the  cause  of  the  tears,  with  a  view  of  offering  consola 
tion,  Sam  prudently  looked  the  other  way,  and  maintained 
silence.  The  reader,  however,  knows  that  those  tears  sank 
into  the  beholder's  soul,  and  caused  to  germinate  countless 
tender  thoughts  and  emotions,  which  were,  on  some  future 
occasion,  to  be  laid  upon  the  alter  of  his  devotion  to  Mrs. 
Dolly  Page.  And  none  the  less,  that,  in  a  few  minutes, 
the  eyes  which  shed  them  resumed  their  roguish  bright 
ness,  and  the  lady  was  totally  unconscious  of  having 
heard,  seen,  or  felt  any  embarrassment.  Sentiment  be 
tween  them  was  successfully  tabooed,  so  far  as  utterance 
was  concerned,  for  that  time.  And  so  Sam  found,  some 
what  to  his  disappointment,  it  continued  to  fall  out,  that 
whenever  he  got  upon  delicate  ground,  the  lady  was  off 
like  a  humming-bird,  darting  hither  and  yon,  so  that  it  was 
impossible  to  put  a  finger  upon  her,  or  get  so  much  as  a 
look  at  her  brilliant  and  restless  wings.  But  nobody  ever 
tired  of  trying  to  find  a  humming-bird  at  rest;  and  so  Sam 
never  gave  up  looking  for  the  opportune  moment  of  speak 
ing  his  mind. 

Meanwhile,  Lucky-dog  Camp  was  having  a  fresh  sensa 
tion.    An  organized  band  of  gamblers,  robbers,  and  "  road- 


SAM  RICE'S  ROMANCE.  239 

agents"  bad  made  a  swoop  upon  its  property,  of  various 
kinds,  and  had  succeeded  in  making  off  with  it.  The  very 
night  after  the  ride  just  mentioned,  the  best  horses  in  Sam 
Rice's  team  were  stolen,  making  it  necessary  to  substitute 
what  Sam  called  "  a  pa'r  of  ornery  cayuses."  To  put  the 
climax  to  his  misfortunes,  the  "road-agents"  attacked  him 
next  morning,  when,  the  "  orney  cayuses"  becoming  un 
manageable,  Sam  was  forced  to  surrender  the  treasure-box, 
and  the  passengers  their  bullion.  The  excitement  in  Lucky- 
dog  was  intense.  A  vigilance  committee,  secretly  organized, 
lay  in  waiting  for  the  offenders,  and,  after  a  week  or  two, 
made  a  capture  of  a  well-known  sporting-man,  whose  pres 
ence  in  camp  had  for  some  time  been  regarded  with  sus 
picion.  Short  shrift  was  afforded  him.  That  same  after 
noon  his  gentlemanly  person  swung  dangling  from  a 
gnarled  pine-tree  limb,  and  his  frightened  soul  had  fled 
into  outer  darkness. 

"When  this  event  became  known  to  Mrs.  Dolly  Page,  she 
turned  ghostly  white,  and  then  fainted  dead  away.  Mrs. 
Shanglmessy  was  very  much  concerned  for  her  friend;  be 
rating  in  round  terms,  the  brutishness  of  people  who  could 
talk  of  such  things  before  a  tender-hearted  lady  like  that. 
To  Mr.  Bice,  particularly,  she  expatiated  upon  the  coarse 
ness  of  certain  people,  and  the  refined  sensitiveness  of 
others;  and  Sam  was  much  inclined  to  agree  with  her,  so 
far  as  her  remarks  applied  to  her  friend,  who  was  not  yet 
recovered  sufficiently  to  be  visible.  Indeed,  Mrs  Page  was 
not  visible  for  so  many  days,  that  Sam's  soul  began  to  long 
for  her  with  a  mighty  longing.  At  length,  she  made  her 
appearance,  considerably  paler  and  thinner  than  was  her 
wont;  but  doubly  interesting  and  lovely  to  the  eyes  of  so 
partial  an  observer  as  Sam,  who  would  willingly  have 
sheltered  her  weakness  in  his  strong,  manly  arms.  Sam, 
naturally  enough,  would  never  have  hinted  at  the  event 
which  had  so  distressed  her;  but  she  relieved  him  of  all 
embarrassment  on  that  subject,  by  saying  to  him  almost  at 
once : 


240  SAM  RICE'S  ROMANCE. 

"Mr.  Kice,  I  am  told  they  have  not  buried  the  man  they 
hung,  so  shockingly,  the  other  day.  They  certainly  will 
not  leave  him  there?"  she  added,  with  a  shudder. 

"I  don't  know — I  suppose,"  stammered  Sam,  "  it  is  their 
way,  with  them  fellows." 

"But  you  will  not  allow  it?  You  cannot  allow  it! " — ex 
citedly. 

"  I  couldn't  prevent  them,"  said  Sam,  quite  humbly. 

"  Mr.  Rice,"  and  her  voice  was  at  once  a  command  and 
an  entreaty,  "you  can  and  must  prevent  it.  You  are  not 
afraid  ?  I  will  go  with  you — this  very  night — and  will  help 
you.  Don't  say  you  will  not;  for  I  cannot  sleep  until  it  is 
clone.  I  have  not  slept  for  a  week." 

She  looked  so  white  and  so  wild,  as  she  uttered  this  con 
fession,  that  Sam  would  have  been  the  wretch  he  was  not, 
to  refuse  her.  So  he  said: 

"Don't  you  fret.  I'll  bury  him,  if  it  troubles  you  so. 
But  you  needn't  go  along.  You  couldn't;  it's  too  far,  and 
you're  too  weak," — seeing  how  she  trembled. 

"lam  not  weak — only  nervous.  I  prefer  to  go  along. 
But  we  must  be  secret,  I  suppose  ?  Oh ! " — with  a  start  that 
was  indeed  "  nervous." 

"  Yes,  we  must  be  secret,"  said  Sam;  and  he  looked  as 
if  he  did  not  half  like  the  business,  but  would  not  refuse. 

"You  are  a  good  man,  Mr.  Rice,  and  I  thank  you."  And 
with  that,  Mrs.  Dolly  Page  caught  up  one  of  his  hands,  and 
kissing  it  hastily,  began  to  cry,  as  she  walked  quickly  away. 

"Don't  cry,  and  don't  go  until  I  have  promised  to  do 
whatever  you  ask,  if  it  will  make  you  well  again,"  Sam 
said,  following  her  to  the  door. 

"  Then  call  for  me  to  take  a  walk  with  you  to-night.  The 
moon  is  full,  but  no  one  will  observe  us.  They  would  not 
think  of  our  going  there," — with  another  shudder — and  she 
slipped  away  from  his  detaining  hand. 

That  evening  Mr.  Samuel  Rice  and  Mrs.  Page  took  a  walk 
by  moonlight.  Laughing  gossips  commented  on  it  after 


SAM  RICES  ROMANCE.  241 

their  fashion;  and  disagreeable  gossips  remarked  that  they 
came  home  very  late,  after  their  fashion.  But  nobody,  they 
believed,  saw  where  they  went,  or  what  they  did.  Yet 
those  two  came  from  performing  an  act  of  Christian  charity, 
each  with  a  sense  of  guilt  and  unworthiness  very  irritating 
to  endure,  albeit  from  very  different  causes.  One,  because 
an  unwelcome  suspicion  had  thrust  itself  into  his  mind; 
and  the  other 

The  ground  of  Sam's  suspicion  was  a  photograph,  which, 
in  handling  the  gambler's  body  somewhat  awkwardly,  by 
reason  of  its  weight  —Mrs.  Page  had  found,  at  the  last,  she 
could  not  render  any  assistance — had  slipped  from  some 
receptacle  in  its  clothing.  A  hasty  glance,  under  the  full 
light  of  the  moon,  had  shown  him  the  features  of  the  lady 
who  sat  twelve  paces  away,  with  her  hands  over  her  face. 
It  is  not  always  those  that  sin  who  suffer  most  from  the 
consciousness  of  sin;  and  Sam,  perhaps,  with  that  hint  of 
possible — nay,  almost  certain — wickedness  in  his  breast 
pocket,  was  more  burdened  by  the  weight  of  it  than  many 
a  criminal  about  to  suffer  all  the  terrors  of  the  law;  for  the 
«woinan  that  he  loved  stood  accused,  if  not*convicted,  before 
his  conscience  and  her  own,  and  he  could  not  condemn,  be 
cause  his  heart  refused  to  judge  her. 

When  the  two  stood  together  under  the  light  of  the  lamp 
in  the  deserted  parlor  of  the  Silver  Brick  Hotel,  the  long- 
silence  which,  by  her  quick  perceptions,  had  been  recog 
nized  as  accusing  her,  upon  what  evidence  she  did  not  yet 
know,  was  at  length  broken  by  Sam's  voice,  husky  with 
agitation. 

"  Mrs.  Page,"  he  said,  assuming  an  unconscious  dignity 
of  mien  and  sternness  of  countenance,  "  I  shall  ask  you 
some  questions,  sometime,  which  you  may  not  think  quite 
polite.  And  you  must  answer  me:  you  understand.  I'm 
bound  to  know  the  truth  about  this  man." 

"About  this  man!"  Then  he  suspected  her  of  connec 
tion  with  the  wretched  criminal  whose  body  had  only  just 
16 


242  SAM  RICES  ROMANCE. 

now  been  hidden  from  mocking  eyes?  How  much  did  he 
suspect?  how  much  did  he  know?  Her  pale  face  and 
frightened  eyes  seemed  to  ask  these  questions  of  him;  but 
not  a  sound  escaped  her  lips.  The  imploring  look,  so 
strange  upon  her  usually  bright  face,  touched  all  that  was 
tender  in  Sam's  romantic  nature.  In  another  moment  he 
would  have  recalled  his  demand,  and  trusted  her  infinitely; 
but  in  that  critical  moment  she  fainted  quite  away,  to  his 
mingled  sorrow  and  alarm;  and  Mrs.  Shaughnessy  being 
summoned,  Sam  received  a  wordy  reprimand  for  having  no 
more  sense  than  to  keep  a  sick  woman  up  half  of  the  night; 
smarting  under  which  undeserved  censure,  he  retired,  to 
think  over  the  events  of  the  evening. 

The  hour  of  departure  from  Luckydog,  for  Sam's  coach, 
was  four  o'clock  in  the  morning;  and  its  driver  was  not  a 
little  surprised,  when  about  to  mount  the  box,  to  discover 
Mrs.  Page  waiting  to  take  a  seat  beside  him.  After  the  ad 
venture  of  the  previous  night,  it  was  with  some  restraint 
that  he  addressed  her;  and  there  was  wanting,  also,  some 
thing  of  his  cheerful  alacrity  of  manner,  when  he  requested 
the  stranger  who -had  taken  the  box-seat,  to  }Tield  it  to  a 
lady.  The  stranger's  mood  seemed  uncongenial,  for  he  de 
clined  to  abdicate,  intimating  that  there  was  room  for  the 
lady  between  himself  and  the  driver,  if  she  insisted  upon 
an  outside  seat. 

But  Mrs.  Page  did  not  insist.  She  whispered  Sam  to 
open  the  coach-door,  and  quietly  took  a  seat  inside;  and 
Sam,  with  a  sense  of  irritation  very  unusual  with  him, 
climbed  reluctantly  to  his  place,  giving  the  "cayuses"  the 
lash  in  a  way  that  set  them  off  on  a  keen  run.  By  the  time 
he  had  gotten  his  team  cooled  down,  the  unusual  mood  had 
passed,  and  the  longing  returned  to  hear  the  sweet  voice, 
and  watch  the  bright  eyes  that  had  made  his  happiness  on 
former  occasions.  Puzzled  as  he  was,  and  pained  by  the 
evidence  he  possessed  of  her  connection,  in  some  way,  with 
the  victim  of  lynch-law,  that  seemed  like  a  dream  in  the 


SAM  RICE'S  ROMANCE.  243 

clear,  sunny  air  of  morning,  while  the  more  blissful  past 
asserted  its  claim  to  be  considered  reality.  Not  a  lark, 
warbling  its  flute-notes  by  the  way-side,  not  a  pretty  bit  of 
the  familiar  landscape,  nor  glimpse  of  brook,  that  leaped 
sparkling  down  the  mountain,  but  recalled  some  charming- 
utterance  of  Mrs.  Dolly  Page,  as  he  first  knew  her;  as  he 
could  not  now  recognize  her  in  the  pale,  nervous,  and  evi 
dently  suffering  woman,  sitting,  closely  veiled,  inside  the 
coach. 

Occupied  with  these  thoughts,  Sam  felt  a  disagreeable 
shock  when  the  outside  passenger — in  a  voice  that  con 
trasted  roughly  with  that  other  voice  which  was  murmuring 
in  his  ear — began  a  remark  about  the  mining  prospects  of 
Lucky-dog. 

"Some  rich  discoveries  made  in  the  neighborhood,  eh? 
Did  you  ever  try  your  luck  at  mining?" 

"  AVaal,    no.     I  own  a  little  stock,    though,"  answered 
Sam,  carelessly. 
"In  what  mine?" 
"In  the  Nip-and-tuck." 

"  Good  mine,  from  all  I  hear  about  it.     Never  did  any 
prospecting?"   asked  the  stranger,  in  that  tone  which  de 
notes  only  a  desire  to  make  talk,  with  a  view  to  kill  time. 
"  No,"  in  the  same  tone. 

"  That's  odd,"  stuffing  a  handful  of  cut  tobacco  into  his 
mouth.  "  I'd  have  sworn  'twas  you  I  saw  swinging  a  pick 
in  the  canon  east  of  camp  last  night.'' 

"  I'm  not  much  on  picks,"  Sam  returned,  with  a  slowness 
that  well  counterfeited  indifference.  "  I  was  visting  a  lady 
last  evening,  which  is  a  kind  of  prospecting  more  in  my 
•line." 

"Yes,  I  understand;  that  lady  inside  the  coach.  She's  a 
game  one." 

"  It  strikes  me  you're  devilish  free  in  your  remarks,"  said 
Sam,  becoming  irritated  again. 

"  No  offense  meant,  I'm  sure.     Take  a  cigar?     We  may 


SAM  DICE'S  ROMANCE. 

as  well  talk  this  matter  over  calmly,  Mr.  Bice.  You  see  it's 
ten  to  one  that  you  are  implicated  in  this  business.  Been 
very  attentive  to  Mrs.  Page.  Made  several  trips  together. 
Let  her  handle  your  horses,  so  she  could  take  them  out  of 
the  stable  for  them  thieves.  Buried  her  thieving,  gambling 
husband  for  her.  You  see  the  case  looks  bad,  anyway; 
though  Fm  inclined  to  think  you've  just  been  made  a  tool  of. 
I  know  she's  a  smart  one.  Tain't  often  you  find  one 
smarter." 

Sam's  eyes  scintilliated.  He  was  strangly  minded  to 
pitch  the  outside  passenger  off  the  coach.  The  struggle  in 
his  breast  ^between  conviction  and  resistance  to  conviction 
amounted  to  agony.  He  could  not,  in  that  supreme  moment, 
discriminate  between  the  anger  he  felt  at  being  falsely  ac 
cused,  and  the  grief  and  rage  of  being  so  horrible  disillu 
sioned.  Their  combined  anguish  paled  his  cheeks,  and -set 
his  teeth  on  edge :  of  all  of  which  the  outside  passenger  was 
coolly  cognizant.  As  they  were,  at  that  moment,  in  sight 
of  the  first  station,  he  resumed. 

"  Let  her  get  up  here,  if  she  wants  to;  I  can  ride  inside. 
I  don't  want  to  be  hard  on  her;  but  mind,  if  you  breathe  a 
word  to  her  about  my  being  an  officer,  I'll  arrest  you  on 
suspicion.  Let  every  tub  stand  on  its  own  bottom.  If  she's 
guilty,  you  can't  help  her,  and  don't  want  to,  either;  if  she's 
innocent,  she'll  come  out  all  right,  never  fear.  Are  you  on 
the  square,  now  ?" 

"  Have  you  got  a  warrant?"  asked  Sam,  in  a  low  tone,  as 
he  wound  the  lines  around  the  break,  previous  to  getting 
down. 

"  You  bet  !  but  I'm  in  no  hurry  to  serve  it.  Piney-woods 
station  'ill  do  just  as  well.  Telegraph  office  there." 

Mr.  Bice  was  not  in  any  haste  this  morning,  being,  as  he 
said,  ahead  of  time.  He  invited  Mrs.  Page  to  take  her 
usual  place  on  the  box,  telling  her  the  gentleman  had  con 
cluded  to  go  inside;  and  brought  her  a  glass  of  water  from 
the  bar.  AVhile  he  was  returning  the  glass,  the  passengers, 


SAM  RICE'S  ROMANCE.  245 

including  him  of  the  outside,  being  busied  assuaging  their 
thirst  with  something  stronger  than  water,  a  rattle  of  wheels 
and  a  clatter  of  hoofs  was  heard,  and,  lo!  Mrs.  Dolly  Page 
was  discovered  to  be  practicing  her  favorite  accomplishment 
of  driving  six-in-hand ! 

When  the  "outside"  recovered  from  his  momentary  sur 
prise,  he  clapped  his  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  Mr.  liice,  and 
said,  in  a  voice  savage  with  spite  and  disappointment: 

"  I  arrest  you,  sir." 

"Arrest  and  be  d — — d!"  returned  Sam.  "If  you  had 
done  your  duty,  you'd  have  arrested  her  while  you  had  the 
chance." 

"  That's  so — your  head  is  level;  and  if  you'll  assist  me  in 
getting  on  to  Piney-woods  station  in  time  to  catch  the  run 
away — for  she  can't  very  well  drive  beyond  that  station — I'll 
let  you  off." 

"  You'll  wait  till  I'm  on,  I  reckon.  My  horses  can't  go 
on  that  errand,  and  you  darsn't  take  the  up-driver's  team. 
Put  that  it  your  pipe  and  smoke  it,  old  smarty !" — and  Sam's 
eyes  emitted  steel-blue  lightnings,  though  his  face  wore  a 
fixed  expression  of  smiling. 

Upon  inquiry,  it  was  ascertained  that  horses  might  be 
procured  a  mile  back  from  the  station;  and,  while  the 
baffled  officer,  and  such  of  the  passengers  as  could  not  wait 
until  next  day,  went  in  pursuit  of  them,  Sam  mounted  one 
of  the  "  cayuses,"  and  made  what  haste  he  could  after  the 
coach  and  Wells,  Fargo  &  Company's  express-box.  Within 
a  mile  or  less  of  Piney-woods  Station,  he  met  the  keeper, 
the  grooms,  and  an  odd  man  or  two,  that  chanced  to  have 
been  about  the  place,  all  armed  to  the  teeth,  who,  when  they 
saw  him,  halted  in  surprise. 

"  Why,  we  reckoned  you  was  dead,"  said  the  head  man, 
with  an  air  of  disappointment. 

"  Dead?  "  repeated  Sam.     "  Have  }TOU  seen  my  coach  ?  " 

"That's  all  right,  down  to  the  station;  and  the  plucky 
gal  that  druv  it  told  us  all  about  the  raid  the  '  road-agents' 
made  on  you.  Whar's  the  passengers?  any  of  'em  killed?" 


246  SAM  RICE'S  ROMAN(  i:. 

11  Passengers  are  all  rig-lit.     Where  is  Mrs.  Page  ?" 

"She  cried,  an' tuk  on  awful  about  ye;  an'  borrered  a 
hoss  to  ride  right  on  down  the  road  to  meet  the  other  stage, 
an'  let  'em  know  what's  up." 

"She  did,  did  she?"  said  Sam,  very  thoughtfully. 
''  "Waal,  that  is  odd.  "Why,  she  ran  away  with  my  team- 
that' s  what  she  did;  and  it's  all  a  hoax  about  the  <  road- 
agents/  The  passengers  are  back  at  the  other  station." 

Sam  had  suddenly  become  "all  things  to  all  men,"  to  a 
degree  that  surprised  himself.  He  was  wrong  about  the 
horse,  too,  as  was  proven  by  its  return  to  its  owner  four 
days  after.  By  the  same  hand  came  the  following  letter  to 
Mr.  Samuel  Rice: 

DEAR  MR.  BICE  :  It  was  so  good  of  you !  I  thank  you  more 
than  I  can  say.  I  wish  I  could  set  myself  right  in  your 
eyes,  for  I  prize  your  friendship  dearly — dearly;  but  I  know 
that  I  cannot.  It  has  not  been  all  my  fault.  I  was  married 
to  a  bad,  bad  man,  when  I  was  only  fifteen.  He  has  ruined 
my  life;  but  now  he  is  dead,-  and  I  need  not  fear  him.  I 
will  hereafter  live  as  a  good  woman  should  live.  The  tears 
run  down  my  cheeks  as  I  write  you  this  farewell — as  they 
did  that  day  when  I  saw  that  sweet  woman  and  her  babe  at 
the  farm-house  gate;  and  knew  what  was  in  your  thought. 
Heaven  send  you  such  a  wife.  Good-bye,  dear  Mr.  Bice, 
good-bye.  <  <  DOLLY  PAGE  !" 

There  are  some  men,  as  well  as  women,  in  this  world, 
who  could  figure  in  the  role  of  Evangeline,  who  have  tender, 
loyal,  and  constant  hearts.  Such  a  one  was  the  driver  of 
the  Lucky-dog  stage.  But,  though  he  sat  on  that  box  for 
two  years  longer,  and  scrutinized  every  dark-eyed,  sweet- 
voiced  lady-passenger  who  rode  in  his  coach  during  that 
time,  often  with  an  intense  longing  for  a  sight  of  the  face 
he  craved — it  never  came.  Out  of  the  heaven  of  his  life 
that  star  had  vanished  forever,  and  nothing  was  left  him 
but  a  soiled  photograph,  and  a  tear-stained  letter,  worn 
with  frequent  folding  and  unfolding. 


EL   TESORO.  247 


EL     TESORO. 

"  "VYTIMMEN  nater  is  cur'us  nater,  that  I'll  allow.  But 
VV  a  feller  kind  o'  hankers  arter  'em,  fur  all  that. 
They're  a  mighty  handy  thing  to  hev  about  a  house." 

The  above  oracular  statement  proceeded  from  the  parched 
and  puckered  lips  of  Sandy-haired  Jim — one  of  the  many 
"  hands  "  employed  on  the  immense  Tesoro  Rancho,  which 
covered  miles  of  valley,  besides  extending  up  on  to  the 
eastern  flank  of  the  Coast  Range,  and  taking  in  considera 
ble  tracts  of  woodland  and  mountain  pasture.  Long  be 
fore,  when  it  acquired  its  name,  under  Spanish  occupancy, 
there  had  been  a  rumor  of  the  existence  of  the  precious 
metals  in  the  mountains  which  formed  a  portion  of  the 
grant;  hence,  its  name,  Tesoro,  signifying  treasure.  All 
search  for,  or  belief  in,  gold  mines,  had  been  abandoned, 
even  before  the  land  came  into  the  possession  of  American 
owners,  and  now  was  only  spoken  of  in  the  light  of  a 
Spanish  legend;  but  the  name  was  retained,  partly  as  a 
geographical  distinction  of  a  large  tract  of  country,  though 
it  was  sometimes  called  the  Edwards  Ranch,  after  its  pres 
ent  proprietor,  and  after  the  American  fashion  of  pro 
nunciation. 

John  Edwards  had  more  than  once  said,  in  hearing  of 
his  men,  that  he  would  give  half  the  proceeds  of  the  mine 
and  an  interest  in  the  ranch,  to  any  one  who  would  dis 
cover  it  and  prove  it  to  be  of  value;  a  remark  which  was 
not  without  weight,  especially  with  the  herders  and  shep 
herds,  whose  calling  took  them  into  the  mountains  a  con 
siderable  portion  of  the  year.  But  as  the  offer  of  the 
proprietor  never  seemed  to  assume  the  air  of  a  business 
proposition,  the  men  who  might  have  been  inflamed  by  it 
with  a  prospecting  fever,  held  in  check  their  desire  to 


248  EL    TESORO. 

acquire  sudden  riches,  and  never  looked  very  sharp  at  the 
"indications,"  which  it  was  easy  sometimes  to  imagine 
they  had  found.  But  that  is  neither  here  nor  there  with 
Sandy-haired  Jim,  who  was  not  a  cattle-herder,  nor  yet  a 
shepherd,  but  farmer  or  teamster,  as  the  requirement  was, 
at  different  seasons  of  the  year. 

He  was  expressing-  himself  concerning  John  Edwards' 
sister,  who,  just  one  year  ago,  had  come  to  set  up  domes 
ticity  in  the  house  of  her  brother;  whereas,  previous  to  her 
advent,  John  had  <c  bach'd  it"  on  the  ranch,  with  his  men, 
for  four  or  five  years.  Jim,  and  the  chum  to  whom  his 
remarks  were  addressed,  were  roosting  on  a  fence,  after  the 
manner  of  a  certain  class  of  agriculturists,  hailing  usually 
from  Missouri,  and  most  frequently  from  the  county  of 
Pike. 

The  pale  December  sunshine  colored  with  a  soft  gold  the 
light  morning  haze  which  hung  over  the  valley  in  which 
lay  the  Tesoro  Eancho.  In  spite  of  the  year  of  drought 
which  had  scorched  up  the  grain-fields,  and  given  a  char 
acter  of  aridity  to  the  landscape,  it  had  a  distinctive  soft 
beauty  of  tint  and  outline,  seen  in  the  favoring  light  we 
have  mentioned.  Of  all  the  fascinating  pictures  we  re 
member  to  have  seen,  the  most  remarkable  was  one  of  a 
desert  scene,  with  nothing  but  the  stretches  of  yellow  sand 
and  the  golden  atmosphere  for  middle  distance  and  back 
ground,  and,  for  a  foreground,  a  white  tent,  with  camels 
and  picturesquely  costumed  Arabs  grouped  before  it. 
There  was  the  sense  of  infinite  distance  in  it  which  is  so 
satisfying  to  the  mind,  which  the  few  figures  and  broken 
lines  intensified;  and  there  was  that  witching  warmth  and 
mellowness  of  coloring  which  does  not  belong  to  land 
scapes  where  green  and  gray  hues  predominate. 

Having  said  thus  much  about  a  picture,  we  have  ex 
plained  why  Californian  views,  even  in  our  great,  almost 
treeless  valleys,  grow  so  into  our  hearts  and  imaginations, 
after  the  first  dash  of  disappointment  at  not  finding  them 


EL    TESORO.  249 

like  the  vernal  vales  of  New  England  or  central  New  York. 
But  Tesoro  Rancho  was  not  treeless.  Great  spreading 
oaks  furnished  just  the  necessary  dark-green  tones  in  the 
valley  landscape;  and  the  mountain-sides  had  multifarious 
shades  of  color,  furnished  by  rocks  and  trees,  by  shadows, 
and  by  the  atmosphere  itself. 

It  was  no  wonder,  then,  that  sandy-haired  Jim,  sitting 
on  a  rail-fence,  in  an  attitude  more  curious  than  graceful, 
cast  his  glance  often  unconsciously  over  the  far  valley- 
reaches,  and  up  the  mountain-sides,  with  a  dim  perception 
of  something  pleasant  in  the  view  which  his  thought  took 
no  cognizance  of.  In  fact,  for  the  last  minute  or  two,  his 
gaze  had  been  a  silent  one;  and  any  observer  might  have 
pondered,  considering  the  sharpness  of  the  perch  beneath 
him,  whether  he  might  not  be  making  up  his  mind  to  de 
scend  from  it  as  soon  as  his  slow-working  mentality  had 
had  time  to  convey  the  decision  of  his  brain  to  his  muscles. 

At  all  events,  that  was  what  he  did  in  answer  to  our  men 
tal  query,  taking  up  the  thread  of  his  discourse  where  it 
was  broken  off,  as  follows: 

"Miss  Edwards,  neow  (thai*  she  is,  a-comin  down  from 
the  mount'in,  with  her  arms  full  of  them  'zalias  she's  so 
fond  of),  she's  a  mighty  peart  kind  of  a  gal,  and  wuth  a 
heap  more  to  keep  a  man's  house  in  good  shape  than  one  o' 
them  soft-lookin'  Chinee.  Them's  my  sentiments." 

"That's  so,"  responded  his  chum,  seeming  constitution 
ally  disinclined  to  a  longer  sentence. 

"John  Edwards  has  tuk  to  dressin'  hisself  nicer,  and 
flxin'  up  the  place  as  he  didn't  used  to  when  he  bach'd  it, 
I  can  tell  ye!  "When  I  see  her  briiigin'  her  pianny,  and  her 
picturs,  and  books,  and  sich  like  traps,  I  just  told  myself, 
'  Neow,  John  Edwards  has  got  a  pretty  passel  of  trash  oil 
his  hands,  I  veow.'  And  I  ment  her  as  well  as  the  other 
fol-de-rols.  But,  you  bet  your  life,  she's  got  more  sense, 
two  to  one,  than  ary  one  of  us!  It  was  a  lucky  day  for  Ed 
wards  when  she  came  onto  this  ranch,  sure's  you're  born.'3 


250  EL    TESORO. 

What  further  this  equally  philosophical  and  devoted  ad 
mirer  of  Miss  Edwards  might  have  said  on  this,  to  him, 
evidently  interesting-  topic,  had  he  not  been  interrupted, 
will  never  be  known.  For  the  lady  herself  appeared  upon 
the  scene,  putting  an  end  to  her  own  praises,  and  discover 
ing  to  us,  upon  nearer  view,  that  she  added  youth  and 
grace,  if  not  absolute  beauty,  to  her  other  qualities. 

Checking  the  rapid  lope  of  her  horse,  as  she  came  near 
where  the  men  were  standing,  in  attitudes  of  frank,  if  awk 
ward,  deference,  she  saluted  them  writh  a  cheerful  "  Good- 
morning,"  and  drew  rein  beside  them. 

"Take  Brownie  by  the  head,  and  walk  a  little  way  with 
me,  if  you  please,  James.  I  have  something  I  wish  to  say 
to  you,"  was  the  lady's  low-voiced  command.  A  certain 
flush  and  pleased  expression  on  honest  Jim's  ruddj"  counte 
nance  reminded  her  instantly  of  the  inherent  vanity  of  man, 
and  when  she  next  addressed  her  attendant  it  was  as  "Mr. 
Harris,"  for  such,  indeed,  was  the  surname  of  our  lank 
Missourian,  though  not  many  of  his  associates  had  ever 
heard  it. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  on  this  place,  Mr.  Harris?" 

"  Near  onto  six  year,  Miss  Edwards,"  replied  Jim. 

"  Did  you  know  Mr.  Charles  Erskine,  my  brother's  former 
partner?" 

"Just  as  well  as  I  know  your  brother,  Miss." 

"What  became  of  him,  after  he  left  this  place?" 

"I  couldn't  rightly  sa}7,  miss.  Some  said  he  went  to  the 
mines,  up  in  Idaho,  and  other  folks  said  they'd  seen  him  in 
'Frisco:  but  I  don't  know  naiy  thing  about  him." 

•'He  must  be  found,  Mr.  Harris.  Do  you  think  you 
could  find  him,  if  I  were  to  send  3rou  on  such  a  mission? 
It  is  a  very  important  one,  and  it  is  not  every  one  I  would 
intrust  it  to." 

The  flush  and  the  pleased  look  returned  to  Jim's  face. 
"I'd  do  the  best  I  could,  miss;  and,  mebbe,  I'd  do  as  well 
as  another." 


EL    TESORO.  251 

"That  is  what  I  was  thinking,  Mr.  Harris.  You  have 
been  a  long  time  here,  and  you  are  prompt  and  capable 
about  your  own  business;  so  I  concluded  I  could  trust  you 
with  mine.  I  am  sure  I  was  quite  right/' 

Jim  was  going  on  to  "  swar  she  was,"  when  Miss  Edwards 
interrupted  him,  to  enlighten  him  further  as  to  the  require 
ments  of  "her  business:"  "I  do  not  wish  my  brother  to 
know  what  errand  I  send  you  on.  They  had  a  dreadful 
quarrel  once,  I  believe;  and  he  might  not  agree  with  me  as 
to  the  wisdom  of  what  I  am  about  to  do.  It  will,  there 
fore,  be  necessary  for  you  to  ask  John's  permission  to  go 
on  a  visit  to  San  Francisco,  as  if  it  was  for  yourself  you 
were  going.  The  drought  has  left  so  little  to  do  that  you 
can  be  spared,  without  embarrassment,  until  the  rains  be 
gin.  I  am  going  to  have  a  grand  festival  at  Christmas,  and 
I  would  like  you  to  be  home  before  that  time.  I  will  ex 
plain  further  when  you  have  got  John's  consent  to  your 
absence.  Come  to  the  house  after,  and  ask  if  I  have  any 
commission  for  you." 

When  Miss  Edwards  cantered  off,  leaving  him  alone  in 
the  road,  Jim  was  in  a  state  of  pleased  bewilderment,  not 
unmixed  with  an  instinctive  jealousy. 

"  I  do  wonder,  neow,  what  she  wants  with  Charlie  Ers- 
kine.  He  was  a  powerful  nice  feller,  and  smart  as  lightnin'; 
but,  somehow,  he  an'  Edwards  never  could  hitch  hosses. 
Erskine  allus  went  too  fast  for  steady  John,  an'  I  doubt  ef 
he  didn't  git  him  into  some  money  troubles.  I'd  like  to 
know,  though,  what  that  girl's  got  to  do  about  it.  Wonder 
ef  she  knowed  him  back  in  the  States.  Wimmen  is  cur'us, 
sure  enough." 

Jim's  suggestion  was  the  true  one.  Miss  Edwards  had 
known  Charles  Erskine  "back  in  the  States,"  and  when 
they  parted  last,  it  had  been  as  engaged  lovers.  When  she 
left  her  home  in  the  East  to  join  her  brother,  a  speedy 
marriage  with  him  had  been  in  contemplation.  But  how 
often  did  it  happen,  in  old  "  steamer  times/'  that  wives  left 


252  EL    TESORO. 

New  York  to  join  husbands  in  San  Francisco,  only  to  find, 
on  arrival  at  the  end  of  a  long  voyage,  the  dear  ones  hid 
den  from  sight  in  the  grave,  or  the  false  ones  gone  astray! 
And  so  it  happened  to  Mary  Edwards,  that,  when  she  set 
foot  on  California  soil,  no  lover  appeared  to  welcome  her, 
and  her  trembling  and  blushing  were  turned  to  painful  sus 
pense  and  secret  bitter  tears. 

Her  brother  had  vouchsafed  very  little  explanation;  only 
declaring  Charles  Erskine  a  scoundrel,  who  had  nearly 
ruined  him,  and  swearing  he  should  never  set  foot  on  Te- 
soro  Bancho  until  every  dollar  of  indebtedness  was  paid. 
Poor  Mary  found  it  hard  settling  into  a  place  so  new,  and 
duties  so  unaccustomed;  but  her  good  sense  and  good 
spirits  conquered  difficulties  as  they  arose,  until  now  she 
was  quite  inclined  to  like  the  new  life  for  its  own  sake. 
Her  brother  was  kind,  and  gathered  about  her  every  com 
fort  and  many  luxuries;  though,  owing  to  embarrassments 
into  which  Erskine  had  drawn  him,  and  to  the  losses  of  a 
year  of  drought,  his  purse  was  not  overflowing.  Such  was 
the  situation  of  affairs  on  the  December  morning  when  our 
story  opens. 

Miss  Edwards  mentioned  to  her  brother,  during  the 
day,  that  James  Harris  had  spoken  of  going  to  the  city, 
and  that  she  had  some  commissions  for  him  to  perform. 
She  had  made  up  her  mind  to  discountenance  the  heathen 
habits  into  which  everybody  on  the  ranch  had  fallen.  She 
had  done  all  she  could  to  keep  the  men  from  going  to 
bull-fights  on  the  Sabbath,  and  had  offered  to  read  the 
morning  service,  if  the  men  would  attend;  and  nowT  she 
was  going  to  celebrate  Christmas,  though  she  really  did  be 
lieve  that  the  people  who  never  sawT  snow  forgot  that  Christ 
was  ever  born!  Yet  was  he  not  born  in  a  country  very 
strongly  resembling  this  very  one  which  ignored  him  ? 

John  smiled,  and  offered  no  opposition;  only  bidding  her 
remember  not  to  make  her  commissions  to  the  city  very 
expensive  ones,  and  suggesting,  that,  since  she  meant  to  be 


EL    TESORO.  253 

gay,  she  Lad  better  send  some  invitations  to  certain  of  their 
friends. 

"By  the  way  John,  do  you  know  where  Charles  Erskine 
is  ?"  Miss  Edwards  asked,  with  much  forced  composure. 

"  The  last  I  heard  of  him  he  was  in  San  Francisco,  lying 
dangerously  ill,"  answered  John  coldly. 

" Oh,  John!" 

"Mary,  you  must  hope  nothing  from  that  man.  Don't 
waste  your  sympathies  on  him,  either;  he'll  never  repay 
you  the  outgo." 

"  Tell  me  just  one  thing,  John:  Was  Charles  ever  false 
to  me?  Tell  me  the  truth." 

"  I  think  he  kept  good  faith  with  you.  It  is  not  that  I 
complain  of  in  his  conduct.  The  quarrel  is  strictly  between 
us.  He  can  never  come  here,  with  my  consent." 

"  But  I  can  go  to  him/'  said  Miss  Edwards,  very  quietly. 

And  she  did  go — with  Sandy-haired  Jim  for  an  escort,  and 
her  brother's  frowning  face  haunted  her. 

"If  all  is  right,"  she  said  to  him,  at  the  very  last,  "  I  will 
be  back  to  keep  Christmas  with  you.  Think  as  well  as  you 
can  of  me,  John,  and — good-by." 

It  will  be  seen,  that,  wrhatever  Miss  Edwards'  little,  wo 
manly  plan  of  reconciliation  had  been,  it  was,  as  to  details, 
all  changed  by  the  information  John  had  given  her.  What 
next  she  would  do  depended  on  circumstances.  It  was, 
perhaps,  a  question  of  life  and  death.  The  long,  wearying, 
dusty  stage-ride  to  San  Francisco,  passed  like  a  disagree 
able  dream;  neither  incident  of  heat  by  day,  nor  cold  by 
night,  or  influence  of  grand  or  lovely  scenes,  seemed  to 
touch  her  consciousness.  James  Harris,  in  his  best  clothes 
and  best  manners — the  latter  having  a  certain  gentle  dignity 
about  them  that  was  born  of  the  occasion — sat  beside  her,  and 
ministered  assiduously  to  those  personal  wants  which  she 
had  forgotten  in  the  absorption  of  her  painful  thoughts. 

What  Jim  himself  thought,  if  his  mental  processes  could 
be  called  thinking,  it  would  be  difficult  to  state.  He  was 


254  EL    TESORO. 

dimly  conscious  that  in  his  companion's  mind  there  was  a 
heavy  trouble  brooding;  and  conscious,  also,  of  a  desire  to 
alleviate  it,  as  far  as  possible,  though  in  what  way  that 
might  be  done,  he  had  not  the  remotest  idea.  There  seemed 
an  immense  gulf  between  her  and  him,  over  which  he  never 
could  reach  to  proffer  consolation;  and  while  he  blindly 
groped  in  his  own  mind  for  some  hint  of  his  duty,  he  was 
fain  to  be  content  with  such  personal  attentions  as  defend 
ing  her  from  heat  and  cold,  dust  and  fatigue,  and  remind 
ing  her  that  eating  and  drinking  were  among  the  necessary 
inconveniences  of  this  life.  After  a  couple  of  days  spent  in 
revolving  the  case  hopelessly  in  his  brain,  his  thoughts  at 
length  shaped  themselves  thus: 

"  Waal,  neow,  'taint  no  concern  of  mine,  to  be  sure;  but 
I'm  beound  to  see  this  gal  threough.  She's  captain  of  this 
train,  an'  only  got  ter  give  her  orders.  I'll  obey  'em,  ef 
they  take  me  to  thunder.  That's  so,  I  veow!"  After 
which  conclusion  of  the  whole  matter,  Jim  appeared  more 
at  his  ease  in  all  respects.  In  truth,  the  most  enlightened 
of  us  go  to  school  to  just  such  mental  struggles,  with  profit 
to  our  minds  and  manners. 

Arrived  at  San  Francisco,  Miss  Edwards  took  quarters  at 
at  a  hotel,  determined  before  reporting  herself  to  any  of 
her  acquaintance  to  first  find  whether  Charles  Erskine  was 
alive,  and,  if  so,  where  he  could  be  found.  What  a  weari 
some  search  was  that  before  traces  of  him  were  discovered, 
in  a  cheap  boarding-house,  in  a  narrow,  dirty  street.  And 
what  bitter  disappointment  it  was  to  learn  that  he  had  gone 
away  some  weeks  before,  as  soon  as  he  was  able  to  be 
moved.  To  renew  the  search  in  the  city,  to  send  telegrams 
in  every  direction,  was  the  next  effort,  which,  like  the  first, 
proved  fruitless;  and,  at  the  end  of  ten  days  Miss  Edwards 
made  a  few  formal  calls  on  her  friends,  concluded  some 
necessary  purchases,  and  set  out  on  her  return  to  Tesoro 
Bancho,  exhausted  in  mind  and  body. 

If  Jim  was  careful  of  her  comfort  before,  he  was  tender 


EL    TESORO.  255 

toward  her  now;  and  the  lady  accepted  the  protecting  care 
of  the  serving-man  with  a  dull  sense  of  gratitude.  She  even 
smiled  on  him  faintly,  in  a  languid  way,  but  in  a  way  that 
seemed  to  him  to  lessen  the  distance  between  them.  Jim's 
education  had  been  going  on  rapidly  during  the  last  ten 
days.  He  seemed  to  himself  to  be  quite  another  man  than 
the  one  who  sat  on  the  fence  with  Missouri  Joe,  less  than 
two  weeks  agone. 

Perhaps  Miss  Edwards  noticed  the  change,  and  inno 
cently  encouraged  him  to  aspire.  AVe  must  not  blame  her 
if  she  did.  This  is  what  woman's  education  makes  of  her. 
The  most  cultured  women  must  be  grateful  and  flattering 
toward  the  rudest  men,  if  circumstances  throw  them  to 
gether.  Born  to  depend  on  somebody,  they  must  depend 
on  their  inferiors  when  their  superiors  are  not  at  hand; 
must,  in  fact,  assume  an  inferiority  to  those  inferiors.  If 
they  sometimes  turn  their  heads  with  the  dangerous  defer 
ence,  what  wonder! 

Secure  in  the  distance  between  them,  Miss  Edwards  as 
sumed  that  she  could  safely  defer  to  Sandy-haired  Jim,  if, 
as  it  seemed,  he  enjoyed  the  sense  of  being  her  protector. 
Even  had  he  been  her  equal,  she  wmild  have  said  to  herself, 
"  He  knows  my  heart  is  breaking  for  another,  and  will  re 
spect  my  grief."  In  this  double  security,  she  paid  no  heed 
to  the  devotion  of  her  companion,  only  thinking  him  the 
kindest  and  most  awkward  of  good  and  simple-minded 
men.  That  is  just  what  any  of  us  would  have  thought 
about  Sandy-haired  Jim,  gentle  readers. 

John  Edwards  received  his  sister  with  a  grave  kindliness, 
which  aggravated  her  grief.  He  would  not  ask  her  a  ques 
tion,  nor  give  her  the  smallest  opportunity  of  appealing  to 
his  sympathies.  She  had  undertaken  this  business  without 
his  sanction,  and  without  his  sympathy  she  must  abide  the 
consequences.  Toward  her,  personally,  he  should  ever 
feel  and  act  brotherly;  but  toward  her  foolish  weakness  for 
Erskine,  he  felt  no  charity.  He  was  surprised  and  pleased 


256  EL    TESORO. 

to  see  that  his  sister's  spirit  was  nearly  equal  to  bis  own; 
for,  though  visibly  "pale  and  pining/'  after  the  absurd 
fashion  of  women,  she  went  about  her  duties  and  recrea 
tions  as  usual,  and  prosecuted  the  threatened  preparations 
for  Christmas  with  enthusiasm. 

In  some  of  these,  it  was  necessary  to  employ  the  services 
of  one  of  the  men,  and  Miss  Edwards,  without  much 
thought  of  why,  except  that  she  was  used  to  him,  singled 
out  Jim  as  her  assistant.  To  her  surprise,  he  excused  him 
self,  and  begged  to  substitute  Missouri  Joe. 

"You  see,  Miss  Edwards,  I've  been  a  long  time  meanin' 
to  take  a  trip  into  the  mount'ins.  I  allow  it'll  rain  in  less 
nor  a  week,  an'  then  it'll  be  too  late;  so  ef  you'll  excuse  me 
this  onct,  I'll  promise  to  be  on  hand  next  time,  sure." 

"  Oh,  certainly,  Mr.  Harris;  Joe  will  do  very  well,  no 
doubt;  and  there  is  no  need  for  you  to  make  excuses.  I 
thought  you  would  like  to  assist  about  these  preparations, 
and  I  am  sure  you  would,  too;  but  go,  by  all  means,  for, 
as  you  say,  it  must  rain  very  soon,  when  it  will  be  too  late." 

"  Thar's  nothing  I'd  like  better  nor  stayin'  to  work  for 
you,  Miss  Edwards,"  answered  Jirri,  with  some  appearance 
of  confusion;  "but  this  time  I'm  obleeged  to  go — I  am, 
sure." 

"Well,  good-by,  and  good  luck  to  3*011,  Mr.  Harris," 
Miss  Edwards  said,  pleasantly. 

"Ef  she  only  knowed  what  I'm  a  goin' fur!"  muttered 
Jim  to  himself,  as  he  went  to  "catch  up"  his  horse,  and 
pack  up  two  or  three  days'  rations  of  bread  and  meat. 
"  But  I  ain't  goin'  to  let  on  about  it  to  a  single  soul.  It's 
best  to  keep  this  business  to  myself,  I  reckon.  Teared 
like  'twas  a  hint  of  that  kind  she  give  me,  the  other  day, 
when  she  said,  '  The  gods  help  them  that  help  themselves, 
Mr.  Harris.'  Such  a  heap  o'  sense  as  that  gal's  got!  She's 
smarter'n  John  Edwards  and  me,  and  Missouri  Joe,  to  boot: 
but  I'm  a-gainin'  on  it  a  leetle — I'm  a-gainin'  on  it  a  leetle," 
concluded  Jim,  slowty,  puckering  his  parched  and  sunburnt 
lips  into  a  significant  expression  of  mystery. 


EL   TESORO.  257 

What  it  was  lie  was  "gamin'  on,"  did  not  appear,  for 
the  weight  of  his  thoughts  had  brought  him  to  a  dead- 
stand,  a  few  feet  from  the  fence,  on  the  hither  side  of  which 
was  the  animal  he  contemplated  riding.  At  this  juncture 
of  entire  absence  of  mind,  the  voice  of  John  Edwards,  hail 
ing  him  from  the  road,  a  little  way  off,  dissolved  the  spell: 

"  I  say,  Jim,"  hallooed  Edwards;  "  if  you  discover  that 
mine,  I  will  give  you  half  of  it,  and  an  interest  in  the 
ranch." 

The  words  seemed  to  electrify  the  usually  slow  mind  to 
which  the  idea  was  addressed.  Turning  short  about,  Jim, 
in  a  score  of  long  strides,  reached  the  fence  separating  him 
from  Edwards. 

"Will  you  put  that  in  writin'  ?  " 

"To  be  sure,  I  will,"  answered  John,  nodding  his  head, 
with  a  puzzled  and  ironical  smile. 

"  I'll  go  to  the  house  with  ye,  an'  hev  it  done  to  onct," 
said  Jim,  sententiously.  "  I  hev  about  an  hour  to  spar,  I 
reckon." 

John  Edwards  was  struck  by  the  unusual  mariner  of  the 
proverbially  deliberate  man,  who  had  served  him  with  the 
same  unvarying  "slow  and  sure"  faithfulness  for  years; 
but  he  refrained  from  comments.  Jim,  in  his  awkward  way, 
proved  to  be  more  of  a  man  of  business  than  could  have 
been  expected. 

"I  want  a  bond  fur  a  deed,  Mr.  Edwards.  That's  the 
best  way  to  settle  it,  I  reckon." 

"  That  is  as  good  a  way  as  any;  the  discovery  to  be  made 
within  a  certain  time." 

"  An'  what  interest  in  the  ranch,  Mr.  Edwards?  " 

"  Well,  about  the  ranch,"  said  John,  thoughtfully,  "I 
don't  want  to  run  any  risk  of  trading  it  off  for  nothing,  and 
there  will  have  to  be  conditions  attached  to  the  transfer  of 
any  portion  of  that  more  than  t}ie  one  of  discovery  of  the 
mine.  Let  it  be  this  way:  that  on  the  mine  proving  by 
actual  results  to  be  worth  a  certain  sum — say  $50,000 — the 
17 


258  EL   TESORO. 

deed  shall  be  given  to  half  the  mine  and  one-third  interest 
in  the  ranch;  the  supposition  being,  that,  if  it  is  proved  to 
be  worth  $50,000,  it  is  probably  worth  four  times  or  ten 
times  that  amount." 

"That's  about  it,  I  should  say,"  returned  Jim.  "It's 
lib'ral  in  you,  any  way,  Mr.  Edwards." 

"  The  truth  is,  Harris,"  said  Edwards,  looking  him  stead 
ily  in  the  eye,  "  I  am  in  a  devil  of  a  pinch,  that's  the  truth 
of  it;  and  I  am  taking  gambling  chances  on  this  thing.  I 
only  hope  you  may  earn  your  third  of  the  ranch.  I'll  not 
grudge  it  to  you,  if  you  do." 

"Thank  ye,  sir.  An'  when  them  papers  is  made  eout, 
I'll  be  off." 

John  handed  him  his  papers  half  an  hour  afterward, 
which  Jim  prudently  took  care  to  have  witnessed.  Miss 
Edwards  being  called  in,  signed  her  name. 

"  So,  this  is  what  takes  you  to  the  mountains,  Mr.  Harris? 
I'm  sure  I  wish  you  good  luck." 

"  You  did  that  afore,  miss;  an'  it  came,  right  on  the 
spot." 

"  I  must  be  your  '  wishing  fairy/"  said  she,  laughing. 

"I'll  bring  you  a  Christmas  present,  Miss  Edwards,  like 
as  not,"  Jim  answered,  coloring  with  delight  at  the 
thought. 

"  I  hope  you  may.  Thank  you  for  the  intention,  any 
way." 

"Are  you  going  all  alone,  Harris?"  asked  Edwards,  as 
he  accompanied  him  a  short  distance  from  the  house.  "  It 
is  not  quite  safe  going  alone,  is  it  ?  Have  you  any  heirs, 
supposing  you  lose  yourself  or  break  your  neck? " 

Once  more  Jim  was  electrified  with  an  idea.  His  light, 
gray  eyes  turned  on  his  questioner  with  a  sudden  flash  of 
intelligence : 

"  I  mought  choose  my  heir,  I  reckon." 

"Certainly." 

"  Mought  we  go  back  to  the  house,  an'  make  a  will?" 


EL   TESORO.  259 

"  Aren't  you  afraid  turning  back  so  often  may  spoil  your 
luck?"  asked  Edwards,  laughing. 

"  Ef  you  think  so,  I'll  never  do  it,"  answered  Jim,  so 
berly.  "  But  I'll  tell  you,  onct  fur  all,  who  it  is  shall  be 
my  heir  if  any  thing  chance  me,  an'  I'll  expect  you'll  act  on 
the  squar:  that  person  is  Miss  Mary  Edwards,  your  own 
sister,  an'  you'll  not  go  fur  to  dispute  my  will?" 

"I've  no  right  to  dispute  your  will,  whether  I  approve 
of  it  or  not.  There  will  be  no  proof  of  it,  however,  and  I 
could  not  make  over  your  property  to  my  sister,  should 
there  be  other  heirs  with  a  natural  and  rightful  claim  to  it. 
But  you  are  not  going  to  make  your  will  just  yet,  Harris; 
so,  good-by.  You'll  be  home  on  Christmas?" 

"I  reckon  I  will." 

John  Edwards  turned  back  to  the  house,  and  to  banter 
his  sister  on  Jim  Harris's  will,  while  that  individual  went 
about  the  business  of  his  journey.  His  spirits  were  in  a 
strange  state  of  half -elation,  half-depression.  The  depres 
sion  was  a  natural  consequence  of  the  talk  about  a  will, 
and  the  elation  was  the  result  of  a  strong  and  sudden  faith 
which  had  sprung  up  in  him  in  the  success  of  his  under 
taking,  and  of  the  achievements  of  every  kind  it  would  ren 
der  possible. 

"  She's  my  '  wishin'  fairy/  she  said,  an'  she  wished  me 
luck  twice.  I  got  the  first  stroke  of  it  when  John  Edwards 
called  to  me  across  the  field.  I've  got  him  strong  on  that; 
an'  I  war  a  leetle  surprised,  too.  He  wanted  to  make  me 
look  sharp,  that's  clar  as  mud.  I'll  look  sharp,  you  bet, 
John  Edwards!  Didn't  her  hand  look  purty  when  she 
wrote  her  name?  I've  got  her  name  to  look  at,  anyway." 
And  at  this  stage  of  his  reverie,  Jim  drew  from  an  inner 
breast-pocket  the  bond  \vhich  Miss  Edwards  had  witnessed, 
and,  after  gazing  at  the  signature  for  a  moment  with  move 
less  features,  gave  a  shy,  hasty  glance  all  round  him,  and 
pressed  his  parched  and  puckered  lips  on  the  paper. 

The  sentiment  which  caused  this  ebullition  of  emotion  in 


2GO  EL   TESORO. 

Sandy-haired  Jim  was  one  so  dimly  denned,  so  little  under 
stood,  and  so  absolutely  pure  in  its  nature,  that  had  Miss 
Edwards  been  made  aware  of  it,  she  could  only  have  seen 
iii  it  the  touching-  tribute  which  it  was  to  abstract  womanli 
ness — to  the  "  wimmen  nater,"  of  which  Jim  was  so  frank 
an  admirer.  The  gulf  which  was  between  them  had  never 
yet  been  crossed,  even  in  imagination,  though  it  is  pre 
sumable;  that,  unknown  to  himself,  Jim  was  trembling  on 
the  verge  of  it  at  this  moment,  dragged  thither  by  the  ex 
citement  of  prospective  wealth  and  the  possibilities  involved 
in  it,  and  by  the  recollection  of  the  pleasant  words  and 
smiles  of  this,  to  him,  queen  of  women. 

After  this  gush  of  romance — the  first  and  only  one  Jim 
had  ever  been  guilty  of — he  returned  the  document  to  his 
pocket,  and,  with  his  customary  deliberation,  proceeded  to 
catch  and  mount  his  horse,  and  before  noon  was  on  his  wav 
across  the  valley,  toward  that  particular  gorge  in  the  mount 
ain  where  el  tesoro  was  supposed  to  be  located.  John  Ed 
wards  stood  in  the  house  door  watching  him  ambling  over 
the  waste,  yellow  plain,  until  Jim  and  his  horse  together 
appeared  a  mere  speck  in  the  distance,  when  he  went  to 
talk  over  with  his  sister  the  late  transaction,  and  make  some 
jesting  remarks  on  the  probability  of  the  desired  discovery. 

The  days  sped  by,  and  there  remained  but  two  before 
Christmas.  John  and  his  sister  were  consulting  together 
over  the  arrangement  of  some  evergreen  arches  and  wreaths 
of  bay-leaves.  Miss  Edwards  was  explaining  where  the 
floral  ornaments  should  come  in,  where  she  would  have  this 
picture,  and  where  that,  and  how  it  would  be  best  to  light 
the  rooms. 

"I  confess,  John,"  she  said,  sitting  down  to  braid  the 
scarlet  .berries  of  the  native  arbutus  into  a  wreath  with  the 
leaves  of  the  California  nutmeg,  "  that  I  can  not  make  it 
seem  like  winter  or  like  Christmas,  with  these  open  doors, 
these  flowers,  and  this  warm  sunlight  streaming  in  at  the 
windows.  I  do  wish  we  could  have  a  flurry  of  snow,  to 
make  it  seem  like  the  holidays." 


EL   TESORO.  261 

"  Snow  is  out  of  the  question;  but  I  should  be  thankful 
for  a  good  rain-storm.  If  it  does  not  rain  soon,  there  will 
be  another  failure  of  crops  next  year  in  all  this  part  of  the 
country." 

"And  then  we  should  have  to  'go  down  into  Egypt  for 
corn,'  as  the  Israelites  used  so.  Do  you  feel  very  apprehen 
sive,  John?" 

Before  John  could  reply,  his  attention  was  diverted  by  a 
strange  arrival.  Dismounting  from  Jim's  horse  was  a  man 
whom  he  did  not  at  once  recognize,  so  shabby  were  his 
clothes,  so  worn  and  haggard  his  appearance.  With  a  feel 
ing  of  vague  uneasiness  and  curiosity,  he  sauntered  toward 
the  gate,  to  give  such  greeting  as  seemed  fit  to  the  stranger 
who  came  in  this  guise,  yet  riding  a  well-conditioned  horse 
belonging  to  one  of  his  own  men. 

Miss  Edwards,  who  had  also  recognized  the  animal,  ran, 
impulsively,  to  the  door.  She  saw  her  brother  advance  to 
within  a  few  feet  of  the  stranger,  then  turn  abruptly  on  his 
heel  and  return  toward  the  house.  The  man  thus  con 
temptuously  received,  reeled,  as  if  he  would  have  fallen, 
but  caught  at  the  gate-post,  where  he  remained,  leaning,  as 
if  unable  to  walk. 

"Who  is  it,  John?"  asked  Miss  Edwards,  anxiously  re 
garding  her  brother's  stern  countenance;  but  he  passed  her, 
without  a  word. 

A  sudden  pallor  swept  over  her  face,  and  she  looked,  for 
one  moment,  as  if  she  might  have  fainted;  then,  with  a  cry 
of,  "Oh,  John,  John,  be  merciful!"  she  ran  after  him,  and 
threw  her  arms  about  him. 

"Let  me  go,  Mary,"  said  he,  hoarsely.  "  If  you  wish  to 
see  Charles  Erskine,  you  can  do  as  you  please,  /wash  nay 
hands  of  him." 

"But,  John,  he  is  ill;  he  is  suffering;  he  may  die — and 
at  your  gate!" 

"Let  him  die!" 

It  was  then  that  the  soul  of  Miss  Edwards  ' '  stood  up  in 


262  EL    TESORO. 

her  eyes,  and  looked  at"  her  brother.  She  withdrew  her 
arms  and  turned  mutely  toward  the  door,  out  of  winch  she 
passed,  with  a  proud,  resolute,  and  rapid  tread.  Without 
hesitation  she  did  that  which  is  so  hard  for  a  woman  to  do 
— make  advances  toward  the  man  with  whom  she  had  once 
been  in  tender  relations,  but  whose  position  has,  for  any 
reason,  been  made  to  appear  doubtful.  She  went  to  him, 
took  him  by  the  hand,  and  inquired,  more  tremulously  than 
she  meant,  what  she  could  do  for  him. 

"Mary!"  answered  the  sick  man,  and  then  fainted  quite 
away. 

Miss  Edwards  had  him  conveyed  to  her  own  room,  by  the 
hands  of  Missouri  Joe  and  the  Chinese  cook,  where  she  dis 
pensed  such  restoratives  as  finally  brought  back  conscious 
ness;  and  some  slight  nourishment  being  administered,  re 
vealed  the  fact  that  exhaustion  and  famine,  more  than  dis 
ease,  had  reduced  the  invalid  to  his  present  condition;  on 
becoming  aware  of  which  fact,  Miss  Edwards  grew  suddenly 
embarrassed,  and,  arranging  everything  for  his  comfort, 
was  about  to  withdraw  from  the  apartment,  when  Erskine 
beckoned  to  her,  and,  fumbling  in  his  pockets,  brought  out 
several  pieces  of  white  quartz,  thickly  studded  with  yellow7 
metal,  but  of  the  value  of  which  she  had  little  conception. 

"  Take  these  to  John/'  he  said,  "and  tell  him  they  are  a 
peace-offering.  They  came  from  el  tesoro." 

"You  have  seen  James  Harris;  and  he  has  discovered  the 
mine ! " 

"I  have  seen  no  one.     I  discovered  the  mine  myself." 

"  But  the  horse?     It  was  Harris'  horse  you  were  riding." 

"I  did  not  know  it;  I  found  him,  fortunately,  when  I 
could  no  longer  walk." 

"  Poor  Charlie/'  whispered  Miss  Edwards,  moved  by 
that  womanly  weakness  which  is  always  betraying  the  sex. 
She  never  knew  how  it  was,  but  her  head  sank  on  the 
pillow;  and,  when  she  remembered  it  afterward,  she  was 
certain  that,  in  the  confusion  of  her  ideas,  he  kissed  her. 


EL   TESORO.  263 

Then  she  fled  from  the  room,  and  sought  her  brother  every 
where,  saying,  over  and  over,  to  herself,  "Poor  Jim!  I 
wonder  what  has  happened  to  him;"  with  tears  streaming 
from  her  eyes,  which  she  piously  attributed  to  apprehen 
sions  for  James  Harris. 

AVhen  John  was  found,  and  the  "  specimens"  placed  in 
his  hands,  he  was  first  incredulous,  and  then  indignant;  for 
it  hurts  a  proud  man  to  be  forced  to  change  an  opinion,  or 
forgive  an  injury.  The  pressure  of  circumstances  being 
too  strong  for  him,  he  relented  so  far  as  to  see  Erskine,  and 
talk  over  the  discovery  with  him.  What  more  the  two  men 
talked  of,  never  transpired;  but  Miss  Edwards  concluded 
that  everything  was  settled,  as  her  brother  gave  orders  con 
cerning  the  entertainment  of  his  former  partner,  and  looked 
and  spoke  with  unusual  vivacity  for  the  remainder  of  the 
day. 

Many  conjectures  were  formed  concerning  the  fate  of 
Sandy-haired  Jim,  by  the  men  on  the  ranch,  who  generally 
agreed  that  his  horse  would  not  leave  him,  and  that,  if  he 
were  alive,  he  would  be  found  not  far  from  the  spot  where 
Charles  Erskine  picked  up  the  animal.  From  Erskine's 
account,  it  appeared  that  he  had  been  several  weeks  in  the 
mountains,  prospecting,  before  he  discovered  the  mine;  by 
which  time  he  was  so  reduced  in  strength,  through  hard 
ship  and  insufficient  food,  that  it  was  with  difficulty  he  made 
his  way  down  to  the  valley.  Just  at  a  time  when  to  pro 
ceed  further  seemed  impossible,  and  when  he  had  been  ab 
sent  two  days  from  the  mine,  he  fell  in  with  a  riding-horse, 
quietly  grazing,  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain.  Catching 
and  mounting  him,  he  rode,  first  along  the  edge  of  the  val 
ley  for  some  distance,  to  find,  if  possibly  a  party  were  en 
camped  there;  but  finding  no  one,  started  for  his  old  home, 
riding  as  long  as  his  strength  allowed,  and  dismounting 
quite  often  to  rest.  In  this  way,  three  days  and  a  half  had 
passed,  since  the  discovery  of  the  mine.  Judging  from 
where  the  horse  was  found,  Harris  must  have  gone  up  on 


264  EL    TESORO. 

the  other  side  of  the  ridge  or  spur,  in  which  el  tesoro  was 
located.  At  all  events,  it  was  decided  to  send  a  party  to 
look  for  him,  as,  whether  or  not  any  accident  had  befallen 
him,  he  was  now  without  the  means  of  reaching-  home;  and, 
to  provide  for  any  emergencies,  John  ordered  the  light 
wagon  to  be  taken  along,  with  certain  other  articles,  so  sug 
gestive  of  possible  pain  and  calamity,  that  Miss  Edwards 
felt  her  blood  chilled  by  the  sight  of  them. 

"He  will  be  so  disappointed,"  she  said,  "  not  to  have 
been  the  discoverer  of  the  mine.  John,  you  must  make 
him  a  handsome  present,  and  I  will  see  what  I  can  do,  to 
show  my  gratitude  for  his  many  kindnesses." 

And  then,  happy  in  the  presence  of  her  lover,  and  the 
returning  cheerfulness  of  her  brother,  Miss  Edwards  for 
got  to  give  more  than  a  passing  thought  to  James  Harris, 
while  she  busied  herself  in  the  preparations  for  a  holiday, 
which,  to  her,  would  be  doubly  an  anniversary,  ever  after 
ward. 

The  clouds,  which  had  been  gathering  for  a  storm,  dur 
ing  the  past  week,  sent  down  a  deluge  of  rain,  on  Christ 
mas  Eve,  making  it  necessary  to  light  fires  in  the  long- 
empty  fire-places,  and  giving  a  truly  festive  glow  to  the 
holiday  adornments  of  the  Edwards  Bancho.  The  ranch 
hands  were  dancing  to  the  music  of  the  "Arkansas  Trav 
eler,"  in  their  separate  quarters.  John  Edwards's  half- 
dozen  friends  from  the  city,  with  two  or  three  of  his  sister's, 
and  the  now  convalescent  Charles  Erskine,  clothed  in  a  suit 
of  borrowed  broadcloth,  were  making  mirth  and  music, 
after  their  more  refined  fashion,  in  Miss  Edwards's  parlor. 

At  the  hour  when,  according  to  tradition,  the  Bethlehem 
Babe  was  born,  Missouri  Joe  appeared  at  the  door,  and 
made  a  sign  to  the  master  of  the  house. 

"It's  a  pity,  like,"  said  Joe,  softly,  "to  leave  him  out 
thar  in  the  storm." 

"  '  Him  !'  Do  you  mean  Harris?  How  is  he?" 

"  The  storrn  can't  hurt  him  none,"  continued  Joe;  "an5 


EL   TESORO.  265 

it  do  not  look  right  to  fetch  him  in  yer,  nor  to  'tother 
house,  no  more/' 

"What  is  it,  John?"  Miss  Edwards  asked  anxiously, 
looking  over  his  shoulder  into  the  darkness.  "  Has  Harris 
returned  ?" 

"They  have  brought  him,"  answered  John;  "and  we 
must  have  him  in  here." 

She  shrank  away,  frightened  and  distressed,  while  the 
men  brought  what  remained  of  Sandy-haired  Jim,  and  de 
posited  it  carefully  on  a  wooden  bench  in  the  hall.  There 
was  little  to  be  told.  The  men  had  found  him  at  the  foot 
of  a  precipice  where  he  had  fallen.  Beside  him  was  a 
heavy  nugget  of  pure  gold,  which  he  was  evidently  carry 
ing  when  he  fell.  He  had  not  died  immediately,  for  in  his 
breast-pocket  was  found  the  bond,  with  this  indorsement, 
in  pencil : 

"  I  hev  lit  onto  the  mine  f oiler  mi  trail  up  the  kenyon 
miss  Mary  edwards  is  mi  air  so  help  me  God  goodby. 

JAMES  HAKRIS." 

4 

They  buried  him  on  Christmas  Day;  and  Miss  Edwards, 
smiling  through  her  quiet-flowing  tears,  adorned  his  coffin 
with  evergreen-wreaths  and  flowers.  "I  am  glad  to  do 
this  for  him,"  she  whispered  to  her  lover,  "for  if  ever 
there  was  a  heart  into  which  Christ  was  born  at  its  birth,  it 
was  poor  Jim's.33 


POEMS. 


POEMS. 


A   PAGAN   REVERIE. 

Tell  me,  mother  Nature!  tender  yet  stern  mother! 
In  what  nomenclature  (fitlier  than  another) 
Can  I  laud  and  praise  thee,  entreat  and  implore  thee; 
Ask  thee  what  thy  ways  be,  question  yet  adore  thee. 

Over  me  thy  heaven  bends  its  royal  arches; 
Through  its  vault  the  seven  planets  keep  their  marches: 
Rising,  shining,  setting,  with  no  change  or  turning; 
Never  once  forgetting — wasted  not  with  burning. 

On  and  on,  unceasing,  move  the  constellations, 
Lessening  nor  increasing  since  the  birth  of  nations: 
Sun  and  moon  unfailing  keep  their  times  and  seasons, — 
But  man,  unavailing,  pleads  to  thee  for  reasons. 

Why  the  great  dumb  mountains,  why  the  ocean  hoary — 
Even  the  babbling  fountains,  older  are  than  story, 
And  his  life's  duration  's  but  a  few  short  inarches 
Of  the  constellations  through  the  heavenly  arches ! 

Even  the  oaks  of  Mamre,  and  the  palms  of  Kedar, 
(Praising  thee  with  psalmry)  and  the  stately  cedar, 
Through  the  cycling  ages,  stinted  not  are  growing, — 
While  the  holiest  sages  have  not  time  for  knowing. 


270  A   PAGAN  REVERIE. 

Mother  whom  we  cherish,  savage  while  so  tender, 
Do  the  lilies  perish  mourning  their  lost  splendor? 
Does  the  diamond  shimmer  brightlier  that  eternal 
Time  makes  nothing  dimmer  of  its  light  supernal? 

Do  the  treasures  hidden  in  earth's  rocky  bosom, 
Cry  to  men  unbidden  that  they  come  and  loose  them? 
Is  the  dew  of  dawutide  sad  because  the  Summer 
Kissed  to  death  the  fawn-eyed  Spring,  the  earlier  comer? 

Would  the  golden  vapors  trooping  over  heaven, 

Quench  the  starry  tapers  of  the  sunless  even  ? 

When  the  arrowy  lightnings  smite  the  rocks  asunder, 

Do  they  shrink  with  frightenings  from  the  bellowing  thunder? 

Inconceivable  Nature!  these,  thy  inert  creatures, 
With  their  sphinx-like  stature,  are  of  man  the  teachers; 
Silent,  secret,  passive,  endless  as  the  ages, 
'Gainst  their  forces  massive  fruitlessly  he  rages. 

Winds  and  waves  misuse  him,  buffet  and  destroy  him; 
Thorns  and  pebbles  bruise  him,  heat  and  cold  annoy  him; 
Sting  of  insect  maddens,  snarl  of  beast  affrights  him; 
Shade  of  forest  saddens,  breath  of  flowers  delights  him. 

O  thou  great,  mysterious  mother  of  all  mystery! 
At  thy  lips  imperious  man  entreats  his  history. — 
Whence  he  came — and  whither  is  his  spirit  fleeing: 
Ere  it  wandered  hither  had  it  other  being: 

Will  its  subtile  essence,  passing  through  death's  portal, 
Put  on  nobler  presence  in  a  life  immortal? 
Or  is  man  but  matter,  that  a  touch  ungentle, 
Back  again  may  shatter  to  forms  elemental? 

Can  mere  atoms  question  how  they  feel  sensation? 
Or  dust  make  suggestion  of  its  own  creation  ? 
Yet  if  man  were  better  than  his  base  conditions, 
Could  things  baser  fetter  his  sublime  ambitions  ? 


A   PAGAN  REVERIE.  271 

"What  unknown  conjunction  of  the  pure  etherial, 
"With  the  form  and  function  of  the  gross  material, 
Gives  the  product  mortal?  whose  immortal  yearning 
Brings  him  to  the  portal  of  celestial  learning. 

To  the  portal  gleaming,  where  the  waiting  sphinxes, 
Humoring  his  dreaming,  give  him  what  he  thinks  is 
Key  to  the  arcana — plausible  equation 
Of  the  problems  many  in  his  incarnation. 

Pitiful  delusion! — in  no  nomenclature — 
Maugre  its  profusion — O  ambiguous  nature ! 
Can  man  find  expression  of  his  own  relation 
To  the  great  procession  of  facts  in  creation  ? 

Fruitless  speculating!  none  may  lift  the  curtain 
From  the  antedating  ages  and  uncertain 
When  what  is  was  not,  and  tides  of  pristine  being 
Beat  on  shores  forgot,  and  all,  as  now,  unseeing. 

Whence  impelled  or  whither,  or  by  what  volition; 
Borne  now  here,  now  thither,  in  blind  inanition. 
Out  of  this  abysmal,  nebulous  dim  distance, 
Haunted  by  a  dismal,  phantomic  existence, 

Issued  man? — a  creature  without  inspiration, 
Gross  of  form  and  feature,  dull  of  inclination? 
Or  was  his  primordial  self  a  something  higher? 
Fresh  from  test  and  ordeal  of  elemental  fire. 

Were  these  ages  golden  while  the  world  was  younger, 
When  the  giants  olden  knew  not  toil  nor  hunger? 
When  no  pain  nor  malice  marred  joy's  full  completeness, 
And  life's  honeyed  chalice  rapt  the  soul  with  sweetness? 

When  the  restless  river  of  time  loved  to  linger; 
Ere  flesh  felt  the  quiver  of  death's  dissolving  finger; 
When  man's  intuition  led  without  deflection, 
To  a  sure  fruition,  and  a  full  perfection. 


72  PASSING  BY  HELICON. 

Individual  mau  is  ever  new  created: 
What  his  being's  plan  is,  loosely  predicated 
On  the  circumstances  of  his  sole  condition, 
Colored  by  the  fancies  borrowed  from  tradition. 

His  creation  gives  him  clue  to  nothing  older: 

Naked,  life  receives  him — wondering  beholder 

Of  the  world  about  him — and  ere  aught  is  certain, 

Time  and  mystery  flout  him;  and  death  drops  the  curtain, 

Man,  the  dreamer,  groping  after  what  he  should  be, 
Cheers  himself  with  hoping  to  be  what  he  would  be: 
When  he  hopes  no  longer,  with  self-adulation, 
Fancies  he  was  stronger  at  his  first  creation: 

Else — in  him  inhering  powers  of  intellection- 
Death,  by  interfering  with  his  mind's  perfection, 
Itself  gives  security  to  restore  life's  treasure, 
Freed  from  all  impurity  and  in  endless  measure. 

Thou,  O  Nature,  knowest,  yet  no  word  is  spoken. 
Time,  that  ever  flowest,  presses  on  unbroken: 
All  in  vain  the  sages  toil  with  proof  and  question— 
The  immemorial  ages  give  no  least  suggestion. 


PASSING    BY    HELICON. 

My  steps  are  turned  away; 
Yet  my  eyes  linger  still, 
On  their  beloved  hill, 

In  one  long,  last  survey: 
Gazing  through  tears  that  multiply  the  view, 
Their  passionate  adieu ! 

O,  joy-empurpled  height, 
Down  whose  enchanted  sides 
The  rosy  mist  now  glides, 


PASSING  BY  HELICON.  273 

How  can  I  loose  thy  sight  ? 
How  can  my  eyes  turn  where  my  feet  must  go, 
Trailing  their  way  in  woe  ? 

Gone  is  my  strength  of  heart; 
The  roses  that  I  brought 
From  thy  dear  bowers,  and  thought 
To  keep,  since  we  must  part — 
Thy  thornless  roses,  sweeter  until  now, 
Than  round  Hymettus'  brow. 

The  golden-vested  bees 

Find  sweetest  sweetness  in — 
Such  odors  dwelt  within 
The  moist  red  hearts  of  these — 
Alas,  no  longer  give  out  blissful  breath, 
But  odors  rank  with  death. 

Their  dewiness  is  dank; 
It  chills  my  pallid  arms, 
Once  blushing  'neath  their  charms; 

And  their  green  stems  hang  lank, 
Stricken  with  leprosy,  and  fair  no  more, 
But  withered  to  the  core. 

Vain  thought!  to  bear  along, 
Into  this  torrid  track, 
"Whence  no  one  turneth  back 
With  his  first  wanderer's  song 
Yet  on  his  lips,  thy  odors  and  thy  dews, 
To  deck  these  dwarfed  yews. 

No  more  within  thy  vales, 
Beside  thy  plashing  wells, 
Where  sweet  Euterpe  dwells 
With  songs  of  nightingales, 
And  sounds  of  flutes  that  make  pale  Silence  glow, 

Shall  I  their  rapture  know. 
18 


274  PASSING  BY  HELICON. 

Farewell,  ye  stately  palms! 
Clashing  your  cymbal  tones, 
In  thro'  the  mystic  moans 
Of  pines  at  solemn  psalms: 
Ye  myrtles,  singing  Love's  inspired  song, 
We  part,  and  part  for  long! 

Farewell,  majestic  peaks! 
Whereon  my  listening  soul 
Hath  trembled  to  the  roll 
Of  thunders  that  Jove  wreaks — 
And  calm  Minerva's  oracles  hath  heard 
All  more  than  now  unstirred  ! 

Adieu,  ye  beds  of  bloom  ! 
No  more  shall  zephyr  bring 
To- me,  upon  his  wing, 
Your  loveliest  perfume; 
No  more  upon  your  pure,  immortal  dyes, 
Shall  rest  my  happy  eyes. 

I  pass  by;  at  thy  foot, 
O,  mount  of  my  delight  ! 
Ere  yet  from  out  thy  sight, 
I  drop  my  voiceless  lute : 
It  is  in  vain  to  strive  to  carry  hence 
Its  olden  eloquence. 

Your  sacred  groves  no  more 
My  singing  shall  prolong, 
With  echoes  of  my  song, 
Doubling  it  o'er  and  o'er. 
Haunt  of  the  muses,  lost  to  wistful  eyes, 
What  dreams  of  thee  shall  rise  ! 


LOST  AT  SEA.  275 

Rise  but  to  be  dispelled — 
For  here  where  I  am  cast, 
Such  visions  may  not  last, 
By  sterner  fancies  quelled : 
Relentless  Nemesis  my  doom  hath  sent— 
This  cruel  banishment  ! 


LOST    AT    SEA. 

A  fleet  set  sail  upon  a  summer  sea: 

'Tis  now  so  long  ago, 

I  look  no  more  to  see  my  ships  come  home; 
But  in  that  fleet  sailed  all  'twas  dear  to  me. 

Ships  never  bore  such  precious  freight  as  these, 

Please  God,  to  any  woe. 

His  world  is  wide,  and  they  may  ride  the  foam, 
Secure  from  danger,  in  some  unknown  seas. 

But  they  have  left  me  bankrupt  on  life's  'change; 

And  daily  I  bestow 

Regretful  tears  upon  the  blank  account, 
And  with  myself  my  losses  rearrange. 

Oh,  mystic  wind  of  fate,  dost  hold  my  dower 

Where  I  may  never  know  ? 
Of  all  my  treasure  ventured  what  amount 
Will  the  sea  send  me  in  my  parting  hour  I 


276  'T  WAS  JUNE,  NOT  I. 


'TWAS    JUNE,    NOT    I. 

"Come  out  into  the  garden,  Maud;" 

In  whispered  tones  young  Percy  said: 
He  but  repeated  what  he'd  read 

That  afternoon,  with  soft  applaud: 

A  snatch,  which  for  my  same  name's  sake, 
He  caught,  out  of  the  sweet,  soft  song, 

A  lover  for  his  love  did  make, 

In  half  despite  of  some  fond  wrong: — 

And  more  he  quoted,  just  to  show 
How  still  the  rhymes  ran  in  his  head, 
With  visions  of  the  roses  red 

That  on  the  poet's  pen  did  grow. 

The  poet's  spell  was  on  our  blood; 

The  spell  of  June  was  in  the  air; 
We  felt,  more  than  we  understood, 

The  charm  of  being  young  and  fair. 
Where  everything  is  fair  and  young — 

As  on  June  eves  doth  fitly  seem: 
The  Earth  herself  lies  in  among 

The  misty,  azure  fields  of  space, 
A  bride,  whose  startled  blushes  glow 

Less  flame-like  through  the  shrouds  of  lace 
That  sweeter  all  her  beauties  show. 

We  walked  and  talked  beneath  the  trees — 
Bird-haunted,  flowering  trees  of  June — 
The  roses  purpled  in  the  moon; 
WTe  breathed  their  fragrance  on  the  breeze — 
Young  Percy's  voice  is  tuned  to  clear 
Deep  tones,  as  if  his  heart  were  deep : 
This  night  it  fluttered  on  my  ear 
As  young  birds  flutter  in  their  sleep. 
My  own  voice  faltered  when  I  said 


'TWAS  JUNE,  NOT  I.  277 

How  very  sweet  such  hours  must  be 

With  one  we  love.     At  that  word  he 

Shook  like  the  aspen  overhead : 

"Must  be!"  he  drew  me  from  the  shade, 

To  read  my  face  to  show  his  own: 

"  Say  are,  dear  Maud!  " — my  tongue  was  stayed; 

My  pliant  limbs  seemed  turned  to  stone. 

He  held  my  hands  I  could  not  move — 
The  nerveless  palms  together  prest — 
And  clasped  them  tightly  to  his  breast; 
While  in  my  heart  the  question  strove. 
The  fire-flies  flashed  like  wandering  stars — 
I  thought  some  sprang  from  out  his  eyes: 
Surely  some  spirit  makes  or  mars 
At  will  our  earthly  destinies ! 
"  Speak,  Maud!  " — at  length  I  turned  away: 
He  must  have  thought  it  woman's  fear; 
For,  whispering  softly  in  my  ear 
Such  gentle  thanks  as  might  allay 
Love's  tender  shame;  left  on  my  brow, 
And  on  each  hand,  a  warm  light  kiss — 
I  feel  them  burn  there  even  now — 
But  all  my  fetters  fell  at  this. 

I  spoke  like  an  injured  queen: 

It's  our  own  defence  when  we're  surprised — 

The  way  our  weakness  is  disguised; 

I  said  things  that  I  could  not  mean, 

Or  ought  not — since  it  was  a  lie 

That  love  had  not  been  in  my  mind: 

'T  was  in  the  air  I  breathed;  the  sky 

Shone  love,  and  murmured  it  the  wind. 

It  had  absorbed  my  soul  with  bliss; 

My  blood  ran  love  in  every  vein, 

And  to  have  been  beloved  again 


278  'T  WAS  JUNE,  NOT  I. 

Were  heavenly ! — so  I  thought  till  this 
Unlocked  for  answer  to  the  prayer 
My  heart  was  making  with  its  might. 
Thus  challenged,  caught  in  sudden  snare, 
Like  two  clouds  meeting  on  a  height, 
And,  pausing  first  in  short  strange  lull, 
Then  bursting  into  awful  storm, 
Opposing  feelings  multiform, 
Struggled  in  silence :  and  then  full 
Of  our  blind  woman- wrath,  broke  forth 
In  stinging  hail  of  sharp-edged  ice, 
As  freezing  as  the  polar  north, 
Yet  maddening.     O,  the  poor  mean  vice 
"We  women  have  been  taught  to  call 
By  virtue's  name!  the  holy  scorn 
We  feel  for  lovers  left  love-lorn 

By  our  own  coldness,  or  by  the  wall 
Of  other  love  'twixt  them  and  us! 

The  tempest  past,  I  paused.     He  stood 
Silent, — and  yet  "  Ungenerous!  " 
Was  hurled  back,  plainer  than  ere  could 
His  lips  have  said  it,  by  his  eyes 

Fire-flashing,  and  his  pale,  set  face, 

Beautiful,  and  unmarred  by  trace 
Of  aught  save  pain  and  pained  surprise. 
— I  quailed  at  last  before  that  gaze, 

And  even  faintly  owned  my  wrong: 
I  said  I  "  spoke  in  such  amaze 

I  could  not  choose  words  that  belong 
To  such  occasions.3'     Here  he  smiled, 

To  cover  one  low,  quick-drawn  sigh  : 

"  June  eves  disturb  us  differently/' 
He  said,  at  length;  "  and  I,  beguiled 
By  something  in  the  air,  did  do 

My  Lady  Maud  unmeant  offence; 


'T  WAS  JUNE,  NOT  I.  279 

And,  what  is  stranger  far,  she  too, 
Under  the  baleful  influence 
of  this  fair  heaven  " — he  raised  his  eyes, 
And  gestured  proudly  toward  the  stars — 
"  Has  done  me  wrong.     "Wrong,  lady,  mars 
God's  purpose,  written  on  these  skies, 
Painted  and  uttered  in  this  scene : 
Acknowledged  in  each  secret  heart; 
We  both  are  wrong,  you  say;  'twould  mean 
That  we  too  should  be  wide  apart — 
And  so,  adieu  !" — with  this  he  went. 

I  sat  down  whitening  in  the  moon, 

With  heat  as  of  a  desert  noon, 

Sending  its  fever  vehement 

Across  my  brow,  and  through  my  frame — • 

The  fever  of  a  wild  regret — 

A  vain  regret  without  a  name, 

In  which  both  love  and  loathing  met. 

Wras  this  the  same  enchanted  air 
I  breathed  one  little  hour  ago? 
Did  all  these  purple  roses  blow 
But  yestermorn,  so  sweet,  so  fair? 
Was  it  this  eve  that  some  one  said 
((  Come  out  into  the  garden,  Maud?" 
And  while  the  sleepy  birds  o'erhead 
Chirped  out  to  know  who  walked  abroad. 
Did  we  admire  the  plumey  flowers 
On  the  wide-branched  catalpa  trees, 
And  locusts,  scenting  all  the  breeze; 
And  call  the  balm-trees  our  bird-towers? 
Did  we  recall  the  "  black  bat  Night/' 
That  flew  before  young  Maud  walked  forth — 
And  say  this  Night's  wings  were  too  bright 
For  bats' — being  feathered,  from  its  birth. 


280  'TWAS  JUNE,  NOT  I. 

Like  butterflies'  with  powdered  gold : 
Still  talking  on,  from  gay  to  grave, 
And  trembling  lest  some  sudden  wave 
Of  the  soul's  deep,  grown  over-bold, 
Should  sweep  the  barriers  of  reserve, 
And  whelm  us  in  tumultuous  floods 
Of  unknown  power?    What  did  unnerve 
Our  frames,,  as  if  we  walked  with  gods  ? 
Unless  they,  meaning  to  destroy, 
Had  made  us  mad  with  a  false  heaven, 
Or  drunk  with  wine  and  honey  given 
Only  for  immortals  to  enjoy. 

Alas,  I  only  knew  that  late 

I'd  seemed  in  an  enchanted  sphere; 

That  now  I  felt  the  web  of  fate 

Close  round  me,  with  a  mortal  fear. 

If  only  once  the  gods  invite 

To  banquets  that  are  crowned  with  roses; 

After  which  the  celestial  closes 

Are  barred  to  us;  if  in  despite 

Of  such  high  favor,  arrogant 

We  blindly  choose  to  bide  our  time, 

Rejecting  Heaven's — and  ignorant 

What  we  have  spurned,  attempt  to  climb 

To  heavenly  places  at  our  will — 

Finding  no  path  thereto  but  one, 

Nemesis-guarded,  where  atone 

To  heaven,  all  such  as  hopeful  still, 

Press  toward  the  mount, — yet  find  it  strewn 

With  corses,  perished  by  the  way, 

Of  those  who  Fate  did  importune 

Too  rashly,  or  her  will  gainsay. 

If  /have  been  thrust  out  from  heaven, 

This  night,  for  insolent  disdain, 

Of  putting  a  young  god  in  pain, 


LINES  TO  A  LUMP  OF  VIRGIN  GOLD.  281 

How  shall  I  hope  to  be  forgiven  ? 
Yet  let  me  not  be  judged  as  one 
Who  mocks  at  any  high  behest; 
My  fault  being  that  I  kept  the  throne 
Of  a  Jo  YE  vacant  in  my  breast, 
And  when  APOLLO  claimed  the  place 
I  was  too  loyal  to  my  Jove; 
Unmindful  how  the  masks  of  love 
Transfigure  all  things  to  our  face. 

Ah,  well!  if  I  have  lost  to  fate 
The  greatest  boon  that  heaven  disposes; 
And  closed  upon  myself  the  gate 
To  fields  of  bliss;  'tis  on  these  roses, 
On  this  intoxicating  air, 
The  witching  influence  of  the  moon, 
The  poet's  rhymes  that  went  in  tune 
To  the  night's  voices  low  and  rare; 
To  all,  that  goes  to  make  such  hours 
Like  hasheesh-dreams.     These  did  defy, 
With  contrary  fate-compelling  power, 
The  intended  bliss; — 'twas  June,  not  I. 


LINES  TO  A  LUMP  OF  VIRGIN  GOLD. 

Dull,  yellow,  heavy,  lustreless — 

With  less  of  radiance  than  the  burnished  tress, 

Crumpled  on  Beauty's  forehead:  cloddish,  cold, 

Kneaded  together  with  the  common  mold! 

Worn  by  sharp  contact  with  the  fretted  edges 

Of  ancient  drifts,  or  prisoned  in  deep  ledges; 

Hidden  within  some  mountain's  rugged  breast 

From  man's  desire  and  quest — 

Would  thou  could'st  speak  and  tell  the  mystery 

That  shrines  thy  history! 


282  LINES  TO  A  LUMP  OF  VIRGIN  GOLD. 

i 

Yet  'tis  of  little  consequence, 

To -day,  to  know  how  tbou  wert  made,  or  whence 
Earthquake  and  flood  have  brought  thee:  thou  art  here, 
At  once  the  master  that  men  love  and  fear — 
Whom  they  have  sought  by  many  strange  devices, 
In  ancient  river-beds;  in  interstices 
Of  hardest  quartz;  upon  the  wave-wet  strand, 
Where  curls  the  tawny  sand 
By  mountain  torrents  hurried  to  the  main, 
And  thence  hurled  back  again : — 

Yes,  suffered,  dared,  and  patiently 
Offered  up  everything,  O  gold,  to  thee! — 
Home,  wife  and  children,  native  soil,  and  all 
That  once  they  deemed  life's  sweetest,  at  thy  call; 
Fled  over  burning  plains;  in  deserts  fainted; 
"Wearied  for  months  at  sea — yet  ever  painted 
Thee  as  the  shining  Mecca,  that  to  gain 
Invalidated  pain, 

Cured  the  sick  soul — made  nugatory  evil 
Of  man  or  devil. 

Alas,  and  well-a-day !  we  know 

What  idle  dreams  were  these  that  fooled  men  so. 

On  yonder  hillside  sleep  in  nameless  graves, 

To  which  they  went  untended,  the  poor  slaves 

Of  fruitless  toil;  the  victims  of  a  fever 

Called  home-sickness — no  remedy  found  ever; 

Or  slain  by  vices  that  grow  rankly  where 

Men  madly  do  and  dare, 

In  alternations  of  high  hope  and  deep  abysses 

Of  recklessnesses. 

Painfully,  and  by  violence : 

Even  as  heaven  is  taken,  thou  wert  dragged  whence 
Nature  had  hidden  thee — whose  face  is  worn 
With  anxious  furrows,  and  her  bosom  torn 


LINES  TO  A  LUMP  OF  VIRGIN  GOLD.  283 

In  the  hard  strife — and  ever  yet  there  lingers 

Upon  these  hills  work  for  the  "  effacing  fingers" 

Of  time,  the  healer,  who  makes  all  things  seem 

A  half  forgotten  dream; 

Who  smooths  deep  furrows  and  lone  graves  together, 

By  touch  of  wind  and  weather. 

Thou  heavy,  lustreless,  dull  clod! 

Digged  from  the  earth  like  a  base  common  sod; 

I  wonder  at  thee,  and  thy  power  to  hold 

The  world  in  bond  to  thee,  thou  yellow  gold! 

Yet  do  I  sadly  own  thy  fascination, 

And  would  I  gladly  show  my  estimation 

By  giving  house-room  to  thee,  if  thou'lt  come 

And  cumber  up  my  home; — 

I'd  even  promise  not  to  call  attention 

To  these  things  that  I  mention ! 

"  The  King  can  do  no  wrong,"  and  thou 
Art  King  indeed  to  most  of  us,  I  trow. 
Thou'rt  an  enchanter,  at  whose  sovreign  will 
All  that  there  is  of  progress,  learning,  skill, 
Of  beauty,  culture,  grace — and  I  might  even 
Include  religion,  though  that  flouts  at  heaven — 
Comes  at  thy  bidding,  flies  before  thy  loss; — 
And  yet  men  call  thee  dross ! 
If  thou  art  dross  then  I  mistaken  be 
Of  thy  identity. 

Ah,  solid,  weighty,  beautiful! 
How  could  I  first  have  said  that  thou  wert  dull  ? 
How  could  have  wondered  that  men  willingly 
Gave  up  their  homes,  and  toiled  and  died  for  thee? 
Theirs  was  the  martyrdom  in  which  was  planted 
A  glorious  State,  by  precious  memories  haunted: 
Ours  is  the  comfort,  ease,  the  power,  the  fame 
Of  an  exalted  name : 


284  MAGDALEN  A. 

Theirs  was  the  struggle  of  a  proud  ambition — 
Ours  is  the  full  fruition. 

Thou,  yellow  nugget,  wert  the  star 

That  drew  these  willing  votaries  from  afar, 

'Twere  wrong  to  call  thee  lustreless  or  base 

That  lightest  onward  all  the  human  race, 

Emblem  art  thou,  in  every  song  or  story, 

Of  highest  excellence  and  brightest  glory: 

Thou  crown'st  the  angels,  and  enthronest  Him 

Who  made  the  cherubim : 

My  reverend  thought  indeed  is  not  withholden, 

O  nugget  golden ! 


MAGDALENA. 

You  say  there's  a  Being  all-loving, 

Whose  nature  is  justice  and  pity; 
Could  you  say  where  you  think  he  is  roving  ? 

We  have  sought  him  from  city  to  city, 
But  he  never  is  where  we  can  find  him, 

When  outrage  and  sorrow  beset  us; 
It  is  strange  we  are  alwa}rs  behind  him, 

Or  that  He  should  forever  forget  us. 

But  being  a  god,  he  is  thinking 

Of  the  masculine  side  of  the  Human; 
And  though  just,  it  would  surely  be  sinking 

The  God  to  be  thoughtful  for  woman. 
For  him  and  by  him  was  man  made : 

Sole  heir  of  the  earth  and  its  treasures ; 
An  after-thought,  woman — the  handmaid, 

Not  of  God,  but  of  man  and  his  pleasures. 

Should  you  say  that  man's  God  would  reprove  us, 
If  we  found  him  and  showed  him  our  bruises  ? 


MAGDALENA.  285 

It  is  dreary  with  no  one  to  love  us, 

Or  to  hold  back  the  hand  that  abuses: 
Man's  hand,  that  first  led  and  caressed  us, 

Man's  lips,  that  first  kissed  and  betrayed; — 
If  his  God  could  know  how  he's  oppressed  us, 

Do  you  think  that  we  need  be  afraid  ? 

For  we  loved  him — and  he  who  stood  nearest 

To  God,  who  could  doubt  or  disdain  ? 
When  he  swore  by  that  God,  and  the  dearest 

Of  boons  that  he  hoped  to  obtain 
Of  that  God,  that  he  truly  would  keep  us 

In  his  heart  of  hearts  precious  and  only: 
Say,  how  could  we  think  he  would  steep  us 

In  sorrow,  and  leave  us  thus  lonely  ? 

But  you  see  how  it  is:  he  has  left  us, 

This  demi-god,  heir  of  creation; 
Of  our  only  good  gifts  has  bereft  us, 

And  mocked  at  our  mad.  desolation : 
Says  that  we  knew  that  such  oaths  would  be  broken — 

Says  we  lured  him  to  lie  and  betray; 
Quotes  the  word  of  his  God  as  a  token 

Of  the  law  that  makes  woman  his  prey. 

And  now  what  shall  we  do  ?     We  have  given 

To  this  master  our  handmaiden's  dower: 
Our  beauty  and  youth,  aye,  and  even 

Our  souls  have  we  left  in  his  power. 
Though  we  thought  when  we  loved  him,  that  loving 

Made  of  woman  an  angel,  not  demon; 
We  have  found,  to  our  fond  faith's  disproving, 

That  love  makes  of  woman  a  leman ! 

Yes,  we  gave,  and  he  took:  took  not  merely 

What  we  gave,  for  his  lying  pretences : 
But  our  whole  woman  world,  that  so  dearly 


286  MAGDALENA. 

We  held  by  till  then:  our  defences 
Of  home,  of  fair  fame;  the  affection 

Of  parents  and  kindred;  the  human 
Delight  of  child-love;  the  protection 

That  is  everywhere  owed  to  a  woman. 

You  say  there's  a  Being'  all-loving, 

Whose  nature  is  justice  and  pity: 
Could  you  say  where  you  think  he  is  roving  ? 

We  have  sought  him  from  city  to  city. 
We  have  called  unto  him,  our  eyes  streaming 

With  the  tears  of  our  pain  and  despair : 
We  have  shouted  unto  him  blaspheming, 

And  whispered  unto  him  in  prayer. 

But  he  sleeps,  or  is  absent,  or  lending 

His  ear  to  man's  prouder  petition: 
And  the  black  silence  over  us  bending 

Scorches  hot  with  the  breath  of  perdition. 
For  this  fair  world  of  man's,  in  which  woman 

Pays  for  all  that  she  gets  with  her  beauty, 
Is  a  desert  that  starves  out  the  human, 

When  her  charms  charm  not  squarely  with  duty. 

For  man  were  we  made,  sa}*s  the  preacher, 

To  love  him  and  serve  him  in  meekness, 
Of  man's  God  is  man  solely  the  teacher 

Interpreting  unto  our  weakness: 
He  the  teacher,  the  master,  dispenser 

Not  only  of  law,  but  of  living, 
Breaks  his  own  law  with  us,  then  turns  censor, 

Accusing,  but  never  forgiving. 

Do  you  think  that  we  have  not  been  nursing 
Resentment  for  wrong  and  betrayal? 

From  our  hearts,  filled  with  gall,  rises  cursing, 
To  our  own  and  our  masters'  dismayal. 


MAGDALEN  A.  287 

'T  is  for  this  that  we  seek  the  all-loving, 

Whose  nature  is  justice  and  pity; 
And  we'll  find  Him,  wherever  he  's  roving1, 

In  country,  in  town,  or  in  city. 

He  must  show  us  his  justice,  who  made  us; 

He  must  place  sin  where  sin  was  conceived; 
We  must  know  if  man's  God  will  upbraid  us 

Because  we  both  loved  and  believed. 
We  must  know  if  man's  riches  and  power, 

His  titles,  crowns,  sceptres  and  ermine, 
Weigh  with  God  against  womanhood's  dower, 

Or  whether  man's  guilt  they  determine. 

It  would  seem  that  man's  God  should  restrain  him, 

Or  else  should  avenge  our  dishonor: 
Shall  the  cries  of  the  hopeless  not  pain  him, 

Or  shall  woman  take  all  guilt  upon  her  ? 
Let  us  challenge  the  maker  that  made  us; 

Let  us  cry  to  Christ,  son  of  a  woman; 
We  shall  learn  if,  when  man  has  betrayed  us, 

Heaven's  justice  accords  with  the  human. 

We  must  know  if  because  we  were  lowly, 

And  kept  in  the  place  man  assigned  us, 
He  could  seek  us  with  passions  unholy 

And  be  free,  while  his  penalties  bind  us. 
We  would  ask  if  his  gold  buys  exemption, 

Or  whether  his  manhood  acquits  him; 
How  it  is  that  we  scarce  find  redemption 

For  sins  less  than  his  self-law  permits  him. 

Do  we  dare  the  Almighty  to  question  ? 

Shall  the  clay  to  the  potter  appeal  ? 
To  whom  else  shall  we  go  with  suggestion  ? 

Shall  the  vase  not  complain  to  the  wheel  ? 
God  answered  Job  out  of  the  groaning 


288  MAGDALENA. 

Of  thunder  and  whirlwind  and  hailing; 
Will  he  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  our  moaning, 
Or  reply  to  our  prayers  with  railing  ? 

Did  you  speak  of  a  Christ  who  is  tender — 

A  deity  born  of  a  woman  ? 
Of  the  sorrowful,  God  and  defender, 

And  brother  and  friend  of  the  human? 
Long  ago  He  ascended  to  heaven, 

Long  ago  was  His  teaching  forgotten; 
The  lump  has  no  longer  the  leaven, 

But  is  heavy,  unwholesome  and  rotten. 

The  gods  are  all  man's,  whom  he  praises 

For  laws  that  make  woman  his  creature; 
For  the  rest,  theological  mazes 

Furnish  work  for  the  salaried  preacher. 
In  the  youth  of  the  world  it  was  better, 

We  had  deities  then  of  our  choosing; 
We  could  pray,  though  we  wore  then  a  fetter, 

To  a  GODDESS  of  binding  and  loosing. 

We  could  kneel  in  a  grove  or  a  temple, 

No  man's  heavy  hand  on  our  shoulder: 
Had  in  Pallas  Athene  example 

To  make  womanhood  stronger  and  bolder. 
But  the  temples  are  broken  and  plundered, 

Sacred  altars  profanely  o'erthrown; 
Where  the  oracle  trembled  and  thundered, 

Are  a  cavern,  a  fount,  and  a  stone. 

Yet  we  would  of  the  Christ  hear  the  story, 

'Twas  familiar  in  days  that  are  ended; 
His  humility,  purity,  glory, 

Are  they  not  into  heaven  ascended  ? 
We  see  naught  but  scorning  and  hating; 

We  hear  naught  but  threats  and  contemning: 
For  your  Christian  is  good  and  berating, 

And  your  sinner  is  first  in  condemning. 


REPOSE.  289 

Should  you  say  that  the  Christ  would  reprove  us, 

If  we  found  him  and  told  him  our  trouble  ? 
It  is  fearful  with  no  one  to  love  us, 

And  our  pain  and  despair  growing  double. 
It  is  mad'ning  to  feel  we're  excluded 

From  the  homes  of  the  mothers  that  bore  us; 
And  that  man,  by  no  false  arts  deluded, 

May  enter  unchallenged  before  us. 

It  is  hard  to  be  humble  when  trodden; 

We  cannot  be  meek  when  oppressed; 
Nor  pure  while  our  souls  are  made  sodden 

With  loathing  that  can't  be  confessed; 
Or  true,  while  our  bread  and  our  shelter 

By  a  lying  pretence  is  obtained — 
Deceived,  in  deception  we  welter; 

By  a  touch  are  we  evermore  stained. 

O  hard  lot  of  woman !  the  creature 

Of  a  creature  whose  God  is  asleep, 
Or  gone  on  a  journey.     You  teach  her 

She  was  made  to  sin,  suffer,  and  weep; 
We  wait  for  a  new  revelation, 

We  cry  for  a  God  of  our  own; 
O  God  unrevealed,  bring  salvation, 

From  our  necks  lift  the  collar  of  stone! 


REPOSE. 

I  lay  me  down  straight,  with  closed  eyes, 

And  pale  hands  folded  across  my  breast, 
Thinking,  unpained,  of  the  sad  surprise 

Of  those  who  shall  find  me  thus  fall'n  to  rest; 
And  the  grief  in  their  looks  when  they  learn  no  endeavor, 
Can  disturb  my  repose — for  my  sleep  is  forever. 
19 


290  REPOSE. 

I  know  that  a  smile  will  lie  hid  in  my  eyes, 

Even  a  soft  throb  of  joy  stir  the  pulse  in  my  breast, 

When  they  sit  down  to  mourning,  with  tears  and  with  sighs, 
And  shudder  at  death,  which  to  me  is  but  rest. 

So  sweet  to  be  parted  at  once  from  our  pain; 

To  put  off  our  care  as  a  robe  that  is  worn ; 
To  drop  like  a  link  broken  out  of  a  chain, 

And  be  lost  in  the  sands  by  Time's  tide  overborne : 
And  to  know  at  my  loss  all  the  wildest  regretting, 
Will  be  us  a  foot-print,  washed  out  in  forgetting. 
To  be  certain  of  this — that  my  faults  perish  first; 

That  when  they  behold  me  so  calmly  asleep, 
They  can  but  forgive  me  my  errors  at  worst, 

And  speak  of  my  praises  alone  as  they  weep. 

"  Whom  the  gods  love  die  young,"  they  will  say; 

Though  they  should  think  it,  they  will  not  say  so: 
' 'Whom  the  world  pierces  with  thorns  pass  away, 

Grieving,  yet  asking  and  longing  to  go!" 
No,  when  they  see  how  divine  my  repose  is, 
They'll  forget  that  my-life-path  is  not  over  roses; 
And  they'll  whisper  together,  with  hands  full  of  flowers, 

How  always  I  loved  them  to  wear  on  my  breast; 
And  strewing  them  over  my  bosom  in  showers, 

With  hands  shaken  by  sobs,  leave  me  softly  to  rest. 

There  is  one  who  will  come  when  the  rest  are  away; 

One  bud  of  a  rose  will  he  bring  for  my  hair; 
He  knows  how  I  liked  it,  worn  always  that  way, 

And  his  fingers  will  tremble  while  placing  it  there. 
Yes,  he'll  remember  those  soft  June-day  closes, 
When  the  sky  was  as  flushed  as  our  own  crimson  roses; 
He'll  remember  the  flush  on  the  sky  and  the  flowers, 

And  the  red  on  my  cheek  where  his  lips  had  been  prest; 
But  the  throes  of  his  heart  in  the  long,  silent  hours, 

Will  disturb  not  my  dreams,  so  profoundly  I'll  rest. 


ASPASIA.  291 

So,  all  will  forget,  what  to  think  of  mere  pain, 

That  the  heart  now  asleep  in  this  solemn  repose, 
Had  contended  with  tempests  of  sorrow  in  vain, 

And  gone  down  in  the  strife  at  the  feet  of  its  foes : 
They  will  choose  to  be  mute  when  a  deed  I  have  done, 
Or  a  word  I  have  spoke  I  can  no  more  atone; 
They'll  remember  I  loved  them,  was  faithful  and  true; 

They'll  not  say  what  a  wild  will  abode  in  my  breast; 
But  repeat  to  each  other,  as  if  they  were  new, 

Old  stories  of  what  did  the  loved  one  .at  rest. 

Ah!  while  I  lie  soothing  my  soul  with  this  dream, 

The  terror  of  waking  comes  back  to  my  heart; 
Why  is  it  not  as  I  thus  make  it  seem? 

Must  I  come  back  to  the  world,  ere  we  part? 
Deep  was  the  swoon  of  my  spirit — why  break  it? 
Why  bring  me  back  to  the  struggles  that  shake  it  ? 
Alas,  there  is  room  on  my  feet  for  fresh  bruises — 

The  flowers  are  not  dead  on  my  brow  or  my  breast — 
When  shall  I  learn  "  sweet  adversity's  uses/' 

And  my  tantalized  spirit  be  truly  at  rest! 


ASPASIA. 

O,  ye  Athenians,  drunken  with  self-praise, 

What  dreams  I  had  of  you,  beside  the  sea, 
In  far  Milentus!  while  the  golden  days 

Slid  into  silver  nights,  so  sweet  to  me; 
For  then  I  dreamed  my  day-dreams  sweetly  o'er, 

Fancying  the  touch  of  Pallas  on  my  brow- 
Libations  of  both  heart  and  wine  did  pour, 

And  offered  up  my  being  with  my  vow. 

'Tvvas  thus  to  Athens  my  heart  drew  at  last 
My  life,  my  soul,  myself.     Ah,  well,  I  learn 


292  ASPASIA. 

To  love  and  loathe  the  bonds  that  hold  me  fast, 
Your  captive  and  your  conquerer  in  turn; 

Am  I  not  shamed  to  match  my  charms  with  those 
Of  fair  boy-beauties  ?  gentled  for  your  love 

To  match  the  freshness  of  the  morning  rose, 
And  lisp  in  murmurs  like  the  cooing  dove. 

O,  men  of  Athens!  by  the  purple  sea 

In  far  Miletus,  when  I  dreamed  of  you, 
Watching  the  winged  ships  that  invited  me 

To  follow  their 'white  track  upon  the  blue; 
'T  was  the  desire  to  mate  my  lofty  soul 

That  drew  me  ever  like  a  viewless  chain 
Toward  Homer's  land  of  heroes,  'til  I  stole 

Away  from  home  and  dreams,  to  you  and  pain. 

I  brought  you  beauty — but  your  boys  invade 

My  woman's  realm  of  love  with  girlish  airs. 
I  brought  high  gifts,  and  powers  to  persuade, 

To  charm,  to  teach,  with  your  philosophers. 
But  knowledge  is  man's  realm  alone,  you  hold; 

And  I  who  am  your  equal  am  cast  down 
Level  with  those  who  sell  themselves  for  gold — 

A  crownless  queen — a  woman  of  the  town! 

Ye  vain  Athenians,  know  this,  that  I 

By  your  hard  laws  am  only  made  more  free; 
Your  unloved  dames  may  sit  at  home  and  cry, 

But,  being  unwed,  I  meet  you  openly, 
A  foreigner,  you  cannot  wed  with  me; 

But  I  can  win  your  hearts  and  sway  your  will, 
And  make  your  free  wives  envious  to  see 

What  power  Aspasia  wields,  Milesian  still. 

Who  would  not  be  beloved  of  Pericles? 

I  could  have  had  all  Athens  at  my  feet; 
And  have  them  for  my  flatterers,  when  I  please; 


ASPASIA.  293 

Yet,  one  great  man's  great  love  is  far  more  sweet! 
He  is  my  proper  mate  as  I  am  his — 

You  see  my  young  dreams  were  not  all  in  vain— 
And  I  have  tasted  of  ineffable  bliss, 

If  I  am  stung  at  times  with  fiery  pain. 

It  is  not  that  I  long  to  be  a  wife 

By  your  Athenian  laws,  and  sit  at  home 
Behind  a  lattice,  prisoner  for  life, 

With  my  lord  left  at  liberty  to  roam; 
Nor  is  it  that  I  crave  the  right  to  be 

At  the  symposium  or  the  Agora  known; 
My  grievance  is,  that  your  proud  dames  to  me 

Came  to  be  taught,  in  secret  and  alone. 
They  fear;  what  do  they  fear?  is't  me  or  you? 

Am  I  not  pure  as  any  of  them  all? 
But  your  laws  are  against  me;  and  'tis  true, 

If  fame  is  lowering,  I  have  had  a  fall! 
O,  selfish  men  of  Athens,  shall  the  world 

Remember  you,  and  pass  my  glory  by? 
Nay,  'til  from  their  proud  heights  your  names  are  hurled, 

Mine  shall  blaze  with  them  on  your  Grecian  sky. 

Am  I  then  boastful?    It  is  half  in  scorn 

Of  caring  for  your  love,  or  for  your  praise, 
As  women  do,  and  must.     Had  I  been  born 

In  this  proud  Athens,  I  had  spent  my  days 
In  jealousy  of  boys,  and  stolen  hours 

With  some  Milesian,  of  a  questioned  place, 
Learning  of  her  the  use  of  woman's  powers 

Usurped  by  men  of  this  patrician  race. 

Alas!  I  would  I  were  a  child  again, 

Steeped  in  dream  langours  by  the  purple  sea; 

And  Athens  but  the  vision  it  was  then, 

Its  great  men  good,  its  noble  women  free: 

That  I  in  some  winged  ship  should  strive  to  fly 


294  ASPASIA. 

To  reach  this  goal,  and  founder  and  go  down! 
O  impious  thought,  how  could  I  wish  to  die, 
With  all  that  I  have  felt  and  learned  unknown  ? 

Nay,  I  am  glad  to  be  to  future  times 

As  much  Athenian  as  is  Pericles; 
Proud  to  be  named  by  men  of  other  climes 

The  friend  and  pupil  of  great  Socrates. 
What  is  the  gossip  of  the  city  dames 

Behind  their  lattices  to  one  like  me  ? 
More  glorious  than  their  high  patrician  names 

I  hold  my  privilege  of  being  free ! 

And  yet  I  would  that  they  were  free  as  I; 

It  angers  me  that  women  are  so  weak, 
Looking  askance  when  ere  they  pass  me  by 

Lest  on  a  chance  their  lords  should  see  us  speak; 
And  coming  next  day  to  an  audience 

In  hope  of  learning  to  resemble  me : 
They  wish,  they  tell  me,  to  learn  eloquence— 

The  lesson  they  should  learn  is  liberty. 

O  Athens,  city  of  the  beautiful, 

Home  of  all  art,  all  elegance,  all  grace; 
WThose  orators  and  poets  sway  the  soul 

As  the  winds  move  the  sea's  unstable  face; 
O  wonderous  city,  nurse  and  home  of  mind, 

This  is  my  oracle  to  you  this  day — 
No  generous  growth  from  starved  roots  will  you  find 

But  fruitless  blossoms  weakening  to  decay. 

You  take  my  meaning?  Sappho  is  no  more, 
And  no  more  Sapphos  will  be,  in  your  time; 

The  tree  is  dead  on  one  side  that  before 

Ran  with  such  burning  sap  of  love  and  rhyme. 

Your  glorious  city  is  the  utmost  flower 
Of  a  one-sided  culture,  that  will  spend 


ASP  ASIA.  295 

Itself  upon  itself,  'till,  hour  by  hour, 
It  runs  its  sources  dry,  and  so  must  end. 

That  race  is  doomed,  behind  whose  lattices 

Its  once  free  women  are  constrained  to  peer 
Upon  the  world  of  men  with  vacant  eyes; 

It  was  not  so  in  Homer's  time,  I  hear. 
But  Eastern  slaves  have  eaten  of  your  store,  j 

Till  in  your  homes  all  eating  bread  are  slaves; 
They're  built  into  your  walls,  beside  your  door, 

And  bend  beneath  your  lofty  architraves. 

A  woman  of  the  race  that  looks  upon 

The  sculptured  emblems  of  captivity, 
Shall  bear  a  slave  or  tyrant  for  a  son; 

And  none  shall  know  the  worth  of  liberty. 
Am  I  seditious  ? — Nay,  then,  I  will  keep 

My  lesson  for  your  dames  when  next  they  steal 
On  tip-toe  to  an  audience.     Pray  sleep 

Securely,  and  dream  well:  we  wish  your  weal! 

Why,  what  vain  prattle :  but  my  heart  is  sore 

With  thinking  on  the  emptiness  of  things, 
And  these  Athenians,  treacherous  to  the  core, 

Who  hung  on  Pericles  with  flatterings. 
I  would  indeed  I  were  a  little  child, 

Resting  my  tired  limbs  on  the  sunny  sands 
In  far  Miletus,  where  the  airs  blow  mild, 

And  countless  looms  throb  under  busy  hands. 

The  busy  hand  must  calm  the  busy  thought, 

And  labor  cool  the  passions  of  the  hour; 
To  the  tired  weaver,  when  his  web  is  wrought, 

What  signifies  the  party  last  in  power? 
But  here  in  Athens,  'twixt  philosophers 

Who  reason  on  the  nature  of  the  soul; 
And  all  the  vain  array  of  orators, 

Who  strove  to  hold  the  people  in  control. 


296  A   REPRIMAND. 

Between  the  poets,  artists,  critics,  all, 

Who  form  a  faction  or  who  found  a  school, 
We  weave  Penelope's  web  with  hearts  of  gall, 

And  my  poor  brain  is  oft  the  weary  tool. 
Yet  do  I  choose  this  life.     What  is  to  me 

Peace  or  good  fame,  away  from  all  of  these, 
But  living  death  ?     I  do  choose  liberty, 

And  leave  to  Athens'  dames  their  soulless  ease. 

The  time  shall  come,  when  Athens  is  no  more, 

And  you  and  all  your  gods  have  passed  away; 
That  other  men,  upon  another  shore, 

Shall  from  your  errors  learn  a  better  way. 
To  them  eternal  justice  will  reveal 

Eternal  truth,  and  in  its  better  light 
All  that  your  legal  falsehoods  now  conceal, 

Will  stand  forth  clearly  in  the  whole  world's  sight. 


A    REPRIMAND. 

Behold  my  soul  ?     She  sits  so  far  above  you 

Your  wildest  dream  has  never  glanced  so  high; 
Yet  in  the  old-time  when  you  said,  "  I  love  you," 

How  fairly  we  were  mated,  eye  to  eye. 
How  long  we  dallied  on  in  flowery  meadows, 

By  languid  lakes  of  purely  sensuous  dreams, 
Steeped  in  enchanted  mists,  beguiled  by  shadows, 

Casting  sweet  flowers  upon  loitering  streams, 
My  memory  owns,  and  yours;  mine  with  deep  shame, 

Yours  with  a  sigh  that  life  is  not  the  same. 

What  parted  us,  to  leave  you  in  the  valley 

And  send  me  struggling  to  the  mountain-top  ? 

Too  weak  for  duty,  even  love  failed  to  rally 
The  manhood  that  should  float  your  pinions  up. 


TO  MRS.  -—.  297 

On  my  spent  feet  are  many  half-healed  bruises, 
My  limbs  are  wasted  with  their  heavy  toil, 

But  I  have  learned  adversity's  "  sweet  uses," 

And  brought  my  soul  up  pure  through  every  soil; 

Have  I  no  right  to  scorn  the  man's  dead  power 
That  leaves  you  far  "below  me  at  this  hour  ? 

Scorn  you  I  do,  while  pitying  even  more 

The  ignoble  weakness  of  a  strength  debased. 

Do  I  yet  mourn  the  faith  that  died  of  yore— 
The  trust  by  timorous  treachery  effaced  ? 

Through  all,  and  over  all,  my  soul  mounts  free 
To  heights  of  peace  you  cannot  hope  to  gain, 

Sings  to  the  stars  its  mountain  minstrelsy, 

And  smiles  down  proudly  on  your  murky  plain; 

'Tis  vain  to  invite' you — yet  come  up,  come  up, 
Conquer  your  way  toward  the  mountain-top  ! 


TO    MRS.    •. 

I  cannot  find  the  meaning  out 

That  lies  in  wrong  and  pain  and  strife; 

I  know  not  why  we  grope  through  grief, 
Tear-blind,  to  touch  the  higher  life. 

I  see  the  world  so  subtly  fair, 

My  heart  with  beauty  often  aches; 

But  ere  I  quiet  this  sweet  pain, 

Some  cross  so  presses,  the  heart  breaks. 

To-day,  this  lovely  golden  day, 

When  heaven  and  earth  are  steeped  in  calru; 
When  every  lightest  air  that  blows, 

Sheds  its  delicious  freight  of  balm. 


298  TO  MRS. . 

If  I  but  ope  my  lips,  I  sob; 

If  but  an  eyelid  lift,  I  weep; 
I  deprecate  all  good  or  ill, 

And  only  wish  for  endless  sleep. 

For  who,  I  ask,  has  set  my  feet 

In  all  these  dark  and  troubled  ways  ? 

And  who  denies  my  soul's  desire, 

When  with  its  might  it  cries  and  prays  ? 

In  my  unconscious  veins  there  runs 
Perchance,  some  old  ancestral  taint; 

In  Eve  /sinned:  poor  Eve  and  I! 
We  each  may  utter  one  complaint: — 

One  and  the  same — for  knowledge  came 
Too  late  to  save  her  paradise; 

And  I  my  paradise  have  lost; 
Forsooth  because  /am  not  wise. 

O  vain  traditions!  small  the  aid 
We  women  gather  from  your  lore : 

Why,  when  the  world  was  lost,  did  death 
Not  come  our  children's  birth  before? 

It  had  been  better  to  have  died, 
Sole  prey  of  death,  and  ended  so; 

Than  to  have  dragged  through  endless  time, 
One  long,  unbroken  trail  of  woe. 

To  suffer,  yet  not  expiate; 

To  die  at  last,  yet  not  atone; 
To  mourn  our  heirship  to  a  guilt, 

Erased  by  innocent  blood  alone! 

You  lift  your  hands  in  shocked  surprise; 

You  say  enough  I  have  not  prayed: 
Can  prayer  go  back  through  centuries, 

And  change  the  web  of  fate  one  braid  ? 


MOONLIGHT  MEMORIES.  299 

Nay,  own  the  truth,  and  say  that  we 
Are  but  the  bonded  slaves  of  doom; 

Unconscious  to  the  cradle  came, 
Unwilling  must  go  to  the  tomb. 

Your  woman's  hands  are  void  of  help, 

Though  my  soul  should  be  stung  to  death ; 

Could  I  avert  one  pang  from  JTOU, 
Imploring  with  my  latest  breath  ? 

And  men! — we  suffer  any  wrong 

That  men,  or  mad,  or  blind,  may  do; — 

Let  me  alone  in  my  despair! 
There  is  no  help  for  me  or  you. 

I  wait  to  find  the  meaning  out 

That  lies  beyond  the  bitter  end; 
Comfort  yourself  with  'wearying  heaven, 

I  ask  no  comfort,  oh  my  friend ! 


MOONLIGHT    MEMORIES. 

Do  thy  chamber  windows  open  east, 

Beloved,  as  did  ours  of  old  ? 
And  do  you  stand  when  day  has  ceased, 

Withdrawn  thro'  evening's  porch  of  gold. 
And  watch  the  pink  flush  fade  above 

The  hills  on  which  the  wan  moon  leans, 
Remembering  the  sweet  girlish  love 

That  blest  this  hour  in  other  scenes ! 

I  see  your  hand  upon  your  heart — 
I  see  you  dash  away  the  tears — 

It  is  the  same  undying  smart, 

That  touched  us  in  the  long-gone  years; 

And  cannot  pass  away.     You  stand 


300  MOONLIGHT  MEMORIES. 

Your  forehead  to  the  window  crest, 
And  stifle  sobs  that  no  command 
Can  keep  from  rising  in  your  breast. 

Dear,  balm  is  not  for  griefs  like  ours, 

Nor  resurrection  for  dead  hope : 
In  vain  we  cover  wounds  with  flowers, 

That  grow  upon  life's  western  slope. 
Their  leaves  tho'  bright,  are  hard,  and  dry, 

They  have  no  soft  and  healing  dew; 
The  pansies  of  past  spring-times  lie 

Dead  in  the  shadow  of  the  yew. 

You  feel  this  in  your  heart,  and  turn 

To  pace  the  dimness  of  your  room; 
But  lo,  like  fire  within  an  urn, 

The  moonlight  glows  through  all  the  gloom. 
It  sooths  you  like  a  living  touch, 

And  spite  of  the  slow-falling  tears, 
Sweet  memories  crowd  with  oh,  so  much, 

Of  all  that  girlhood's  time  endears. 

On  nights  like  this,  with  such  a  moon, 

Full  shining  in  a  wintry  sky; 
Or  on  the  softer  nights  of  June, 

When  fleecy  clouds  fled  thought-like  by, 
"Within  our  chamber  opening  east, 

With  curtains  from  the  window  parted, 
With  hands  and  cheeks  together  prest, 

We  dreamed  youth's  glowing  dreams,  light-hearted, 

Or  talked  of  that  mysterious  love 

That  comes  like  fate  to  every  soul: 
And  vowed  to  hold  our  lives  above, 

Perchance  its  sorrowful  control. 
Alas,  the  very  vow  we  made, 

To  keep  our  lives  from  passion  free, 
To  wiser  hearts  well  had  betrayed 

Some  future  love's  intensitv. 


VERSES  FOR  M .  301 

How  well  that  youthful  vow  was  kept, 

Is  written  on  a  deathless  page — 
Vain  all  regrets,  vain  tears  we've  wept, 

The  record  lives  from  age  to  age. 
But  one  who  "  doeth  all  things  well," 

Who  made  us  differ  from  the  throng, 
Has  it  within  his  heart  to  quell 

This  torturing  pain  of  thirst,  ere  long. 

And  you,  whose  soul  is  all  aglow 

With  fire  Prometheus  brought  from  heaven, 
Shall  in  some  future  surely  know 

Joys  for  which  high  desires  are  given. 
Not  always  in  a  restless  pain 

Shall  beat  your  heart,  or  throb  your  brow; 
Not  always  shall  you.  sigh  in  vain 

For  hope's  fruition,  hidden  now. 

Beloved,  are  your  tear-drops  dried? 

The  moon  is  riding  high  above : — 
Though  each  from  other's  parted  wide, 

We  have  not  parted  early  love. 
And  tho'  you  never  are  forgot, 

The  moonrise  in  the  east  shall  be 
The  token  that  my  evening  thought 

Keturns  to  home,  and  love  and  thee! 


VERSES    FOR    M . 

The  river  on  the  east 
Ripples  its  azure  flood  within  my  sight; 

And,  darting  from  the  west, 
Are  "  sunset  arrows,"  feathered  with  red  light. 

The  northern  breeze  has  hung 
His  wintry  harp  upon  some  giant  pine; 


302  VERSES  FOR  M- 


And  the  pale  stars  among-, 
I  see  the  star  I  love  to  name  as  mine : 

But  toward  the  south  I  turn  my  eager  eyes — 
Beyond  its  flushed  horizon  my  heart  lies. 

The  snow-clad  isles  of  ice, 
Launched  by  wild  Boreas  from  a  northern  shore, 

Journey  the  way  my  eyes 
Turn  with  an  envious  longing  evermore — 

Smiling  back  to  the  sky 
Its  own  pink  blush,  and,  floating  out  of  sight, 

Bear  south  the  softest  dye 
Of  northern  heavens,  to  fade  in  southern  night: — 

My  eyes  but  look  the  way  my  joys  are  gone, 

And  the  ice-islands  travel  not  alone. 

The  untrod  fields  of  snow, 
Glow  with  the  rosy  blush  of  parting  day; 

And  fancy  asks  if  so 
The  snow  is  stained  with  sunset  far  away; 

And  if  some  face,  like  mine, 
Its  forehead  pressed  against  the  window-pane, 

Peers  northward,  with  the  shine 
Of  the  pole-star  reflected  in  eyes'  rain : 

"Ah  yes,"  my  heart  says,  "it  is  surely  so;" 

And,  like  a  bound  bird,  flutters  hard  to  go. 

Sad  eyes,  that,  blurred  with  tears, 
Gaze  into  darkness,  gaze  no  more  in  vain 

Whence  no  loved  face  appears, 
And  no  voice  comes  to  lull  the  heart's  fond  pain! 

Sad  heart!  restrain  thy  throbs, 
For  beauty,  like  a  presence  out  of  heaven, 

Rests  over  all,  and  robs 
Sorrow  of  pain,  and  makes  earth  seem  forgiven: — 

Twilight  the  fair  eve  ushers  in  with  grace, 

And  rose  clouds  melt  for  stars  to  take  their  place. 


AUTUMNALIA.  303 


AUTUMNALIA. 

The  crimson  color  lays 
As  bright  as  beauty's  blush  along  the  West; 

And  a  warm  golden  haze, 
Promising  sheafs  of  ripe  Autumnal  days 

To  crown  the  old  year's  crest. 
Hangs  in  mid  air,  a  half-pellucid  maze, 

Through  which  the  sun  at  set, 
Grown  round  and  rosy,  looks  with  Bacchian  blush, 

For  an  old  wine-god  meet — 
Whose  brows  are  dripping  with  the  grape-blood  sweet, 

As  if  his  southern  flush 
Rejoiced  him,  in  his  northern-zone  retreat. 

The  amber-colored  air 
Musical  is  with  hum  of  tiny  things 

Held  idly,  struggling  there, 
As  if  the  golden  mist  entangled  were 

About  the  viewless  wings, 
That  beat  out  music  on  their  gilded  snare. 

If  but  a  leaf,  all  gay 
With  Autumn's  gorgeous  coloring',  doth  fall, 

Along  its  fluttering  way 
A  shrill  alarum  wakes  a  sharp  dismay, 

And,  answering  to  the  call, 
The  insect  chorus  swells  and  dies  away 

With  a  fine  piping  noise. 
As  if  some  younger  singing  notes  cried  out, 

As  do  mischievous  boys — 
Startling  their  playmates  with  a  pained  voice, 

Or  sudden  thrilling  shout, 
Followed  by  laughters,  full  of  little  joys. 


304  A  UT  UMNA  LI  A . 

Perchance  a  lurking  breeze 
Springs,  just  awakened  to  its  wayward  play, 

Tossing  the  sober  trees 
Into  a  frolic  maze  of  ecstasies, 

And  snatching  at  the  gay 
Banners  of  Autumn,  strews  them  where  it  please. 

The  sunset  colors  glow 
A  second  time  in  flame  from  out  the  wood, 

As  bright  and  warm  as  though 
'The  vanished  clouds  had  fallen,  and  lodged  below 

Among  the  tree-tops,  hued 
With  all  the  colors  of  heaven's  signal-bow. 

The  fitful  breezes  die 
Into  a  gentle  whisper,  and  then  sleep; 

And  sweetly,  mournfully, 
Starting  to  sight,  in  the  transparent  sky, 

Lone  in  the  upper  deep, 
Sad  Hesper  pours  its  beams  upon  the  eye; 

And  for  one  little  hour, 
Holds  audience  with  the  lesser  lights  of  heaven; 

Then  to  its  western  bower 
Descends  in  sudden  darkness,  as  the  flower 

That  at  the  fall  of  Even 
Shuts  its  bright  eye,  and  yields  to  slumber's  power. 

Soon,  with  a  dusky  face, 
Pensive  and  proud  as  an  East  Indian  queen, 

And  with  a  solemn  grace, 
The  moon  ascends,  and  takes  her  royal  place 

In  the  fair  evening  scene; 
While  all  the  reverential  stars,  apace, 
Take  up  their  march  through  the  cool  fields  of  space, 
And  dead  is  the  sweet  Autumn  day  whose  close  we've  seen. 


PALO  SANTO.  305 


PALO    SANTO. 

In  the  deep  woods  of  Mexico, 

Where  screams  the  "painted  paraquet," 
And  mocking-birds  flit  to  and  fro, 

With  borrowed  notes  they  half  forget; 
Where  brilliant  flowers  and  poisonous  vines 

Are  mingled  in  a  firm  embrace, 
And  the  same  gaudy  plant  entwines 

Some  reptile  of  a  poisonous  race; 
Where  spreads  the  Itos'  icy  shade, 

Benumbing,  even  in  summer's  heat, 
The  thoughtless  traveler  who  hath  laid 

Himself  to  noonday  slumbers  sweet; — 
Where  skulks  unseen  the  beast  of  prey — 
The  native  robber  glares  and  hides, — 

And  treacherous  death  keeps  watch  alway 
On  him  who  flies,  or  he  who  bides. 

In  these  deep  tropic  woods  there  grows 
A  tree,  whose  tall  and  silvery  bole 

Above  the  dusky  forest  shows, 

As  shining  as  a  saintly  soul 
Among  the  souls  of  sinful  men; — 
Lifting  its  milk-white  flowers  to  heaven, 

And  breathing  incense  out,  as  when 

The  passing  saints  of  earth  are  shriven. 

The  skulking  robber  drops  his  eyes, 

And  signs  himself  with  holy  cross, 
If,  far  between  him  and  the  skies, 

He  sees  its  pearly  blossoms  toss. 
The  wanderer  halts  to  gaze  upon 

The  lovely  vision,  far  or  near, 
And  smiles  and  sighs  to  think  of  one 

He  wishes  for  the  moment  here. 

20 


306  A   SUMMER  DAY. 

The  Mexic  native  fears  not  fang 

Of  poisonous  serpent,  vine,  nor  bee, 

If  he  may  soothe  the  baleful  pang 
With  juices  of  this  "  holy  tree." 

How  do  we  all,  in  life's  wild  ways, 
Which  oft  we  traverse  lost  and  lone, 

Need  that  which  heavenward  draws  the  gaze, 
Some  Palo  Santo  of  our  own! 


A    SUMMER    DAY. 

Fade  not,  sweet  day! 

Another  hour  like  this — 

So  full  of  tranquil  bliss — • 

May  never  come  my  way, 
I  walk  in  paths  so  shadowed  and  so  cold: 

But  stay  thou,  darling  hour, 

Nor  stint  thy  gracious  power 
To  smile  away  the  clouds  that  me  enfold: 

Oh  stay!  when  thou  art  gone, 

I  shall  be  lost  and  lone. 

Lost,  lone,  and  sad; 

And  troubled  more  and  more, 

By  the  dark  ways,  and  sore, 

In  which  my  feet  are  led; — 
Alas,  my  heart,  it  was  not  always  so! 

Therefore,  O  happy  day, 

Haste  not  to  fade  away, 
Nor  let  pale  night  chill  all  thy  tender  glow- 

Thy  rosy  mists,  that  steep 

The  violet  hills  in  sleep — 


A   SUMMER  DAY.  307 

Thy  airs  of  gold, 

That  over  all  the  plain, 

And  fields  of  ripened  grain, 

A  shimmering  glory  hold, — 
The  soft  fatigue-dress  of  the  drowsy  sun; 

Dreaming,  as  one  who  goes 

To  peace,  and  sweet  repose, 
After  a  battle  hardly  fought,  and  won: 

Even  so,  my  heart,  to-day, 

Dream  all  thy  fears  away. 

O  happy  tears, 

That  everywhere  I  gaze, 

Jewel  the  golden  maze, 

Flow  on,  till  earth  appears 
Worthy  the  soft  perfection  of  this  scene : 

Beat,  heart,  more  soft  and  low, 

Creep,  hurrying  blood,  more  slow: 
Waste  not  one  throb,  to  lose  me  the  serene, 

Deep,  satisfying  bliss 

Of  such  an  hour  as  this ! 

How  like  our  dream, 

Of  that  delightful  rest 

God  keepeth  for  the  blest, 

This  lovely  peace  doth  seem; — 
Perchance,  my  heart,  He  sent  this  gracious  day, 

That  when  the  dark  and  cold, 

Thy  doubtful  steps  enfold, 
Thou  may'st  remember,  and  press  on  thy  way, 

Nor  faint  midway  the  gloom 

That  lies  this  side  the  tomb. 

All,  all  in  vain, 

Sweet  day,  do  I  entreat 

To  stay  thy  winged  feet; 

The  gloom,  the  cold,  the  pain, 


308  0   WILD  NOVEMBER  WIND. 

Gather  me  back  as  thou  dost  pale  and  fade: 

Yet  in  my  heart  I  make 

A  chamber  for  thy  sake, 
And  keep  thy  picture  in  warm  color  laid : — 

Thy  memory,  happy  day, 

Thou  can'st  not  take  away. 


HE    AND    SHE. 

Under  the  pines  sat  a  young  man  and  maiden, 
"Love,"  said  he;  "  life  is  sweet,  think'st  thou  not  so?" 
Sweet  were  her  eyes,  full  of  pictures  of  Aidenn,— 
"  Life?"  said  she;  "  love  is  sweet;  no  more  I  know." 

Into  the  wide  world  the  maid  and  her  lover 
Wandered  by  pathways  that  sundered  them  far; 
From  pine-groves  to  palm-groves,  he  flitted  a  rover, 
She  tended  his  roses,  and  watched  for  his  star. 

Oft  he  said  softly,  while  melting  eyes  glistened, 
"  Sweet  is  my  life,  love,  with  you  ever  near:" 
Morning  and  evening  she  waited  and  listened 
For  a  voice  and  a  foot-step  that  never  came  near. 

Fainting  at  last,  on  her  threshold  she  found  him : 
"  Life  is  but  ashes,  and  bitter,"  he  sighed. 
She,  with  her  tender  arms  folded  around  him, 
Whispered — "  But  love  is  still  sweet;"  and  so  died. 


O  WILD  NOVEMBER  WIND. 

O  wild  November  wind,  blow  back  to  me 

The  withered  leaves,  that  drift  adown  the  past; 

Waft  me  some  murmur  of  the  summer  sea, 

On  which  youth's  fairy  fleet  of  dreams  was  cast; 


BY  THE  SEA.  309 

Return  to  me  the  beautiful  No  More — 
O  wild  November  wind,  restore,  restore! 

November  wind,  in  what  dim,  loathsome  cave, 
Languish  the  tender-plumed  gales  of  spring  ? 

No  more  their  dances  dimple  o'er  the  wave, 

Nor  freighted  pinions  song  and  perfume  bring: 

Those  gales  are  dead — that  dimpling  sea  is  dark; 
And  cloudy  ghosts  clutch  at  each  mist-like  bark. 

O  wild,  wild  wind,  where  are  the  summer  airs 

That  kissed  the  roses  of  the  loDg-ago  ? 
Taking  them  captive — swooned  in  blissful  snares — 

To  let  them  perish.     Now  no  roses  blow 
In  the  waste  gardens  thou  art  laying  bare : 

Where  are  iny  heart's  bright  roses,  where,  oh  where? 

Thou  hast  no  answer,  thou  unpitying  gale  ? 

No  gentle  whisper  from  the  past  to  me  ! 
No  snatches  of  sweet  song — no  tender  tale — 

No  happy  ripple  of  that  summer  sea; 
Are  all  my  dreams  wrecked  on  the  nevermore  ? 

O  wild  November  wind,  restore,  restore ! 


BY    THE    SEA. 

Blue  is  the  mist  on  the  mountains, 
White  is  the  fog  on  the  sea; 

Ruby  and  gold  is  the  sunset, — 
And  Bertha  is  waiting  for  me. 

Down  on  the  loathsome  sand-beach, 
Her  eyes  as  blue  as  the  mist; 

Her  brows  as  white  as  the  sea-fog, — 
Bertha,  whose  lips  I  have  kissed. 


310  POLK  COUNTY  HILLS. 

Bertha,  whose  lips  are  like  rubies, 
Whose  hair  is  like  coiled  gold; 

Whose  sweet,  rare  smile  is  tenderer 
Than  any  legend  of  old. 

One  morn,  one  noon,  one  sunset, 
Must  pass  before  we  meet; 

O  wind  and  sail  bear  steady  on, 
And  bring  me  to  her  feet. 

The  morn  rose  pale  and  sullen, 
The  noon  was  still  and  dun; 

Across  the  storm  at  sunset, 

Came  the  boom  of  a  signal-gun. 

Who  treads  the  loathsome  sand-beach, 
With  wet,  disordered  hair; 

With  garments  tangled  with  sea-weed, 
And  cheeks  more  pale  than  fair  ? 

O  blue-eyed,  white-browed  maiden, 
He  will  keep  love's  tryst  no  more; 

His  ship  sailed  safely  into  port — 
But  on  the  heavenward  shore. 


POLK   COUNTY   HILLS. 

November  came  that  day, 

And  all  the  air  was  gray 

With  delicate  mists,  blown  down 
From  hill-tops  by  the  south  wind's  balmy  breath ; 

And  all  the  oaks  were  brown 

As  Egypt's  kings  in  death; 

The  maple's  crown  of  gold 

Laid  tarnished  on  the  wold; 
The  alder  and  the  ash,  the  aspen  and  the  willow, 

Wore  tattered  suits  of  yellow. 


POLK  COUNTY  HILLS.  311 

The  soft  October  rains 

Had  left  some  scarlet  stains 
Of  color  on  the  landscape's  neutral  ground; 

Those  fine  ephemeral  things, 

The  winged  motes  of  sound, 

That  sing  the  "Harvest  Home" 

Of  ripe  Autumn  in  the  gloam 
Of  the  deep  and  bosky  woods,  in  the  field  and 
by  the  river, 

Sang  that  day  their  best  endeavor. 

I  said:  "In  what  sweet  place 

Shall  we  meet  face  to  face, 

Her  loveliest  self  to  see — 
Meet  Nature  at  her  sad  autumnal  rites, 

And  learn  the  mystery 

Of  her  unnamed  delights?" 

Then  you  said:  "  Let  us  go 

Where  the  late  violets  blow 
In  hollows  of  the  hills,  under  dead  oak  leaves 
hiding; — 

We'll  find  she's  there  abiding." 

Do  we  recall  that  day? 

Has  its  grace  passed  away? 

Its  tenderest,  dream-like  tone, 
Like  one  of  Turner's  landscapes  limned  on  air — 

Has  its  fine  perfume  flown 

And  left  the  memory  bare? 

Not  so;  its  charm  is  still 

Over  wood,  vale  and  hill — 

The    ferny    odor    sweet,    the    humming   insect 
chorus, 

The  spirit  that  before  us 

Enticed  us  with  delights 
To  the  blue,  breezy  hights. 


312  WAITING. 

O,  beautiful  hills  that  stand 
Serene  'twixt  earth  and  heaven,  with  the  grace 

Of  both  to  make  you  grand, — 

Your  loveliness  leaves  place 

For  nothing  fairer;  fair 

And  complete  beyond  compare. 
O,  lovely  purple  hills,  O,  first  day  of  November, 

Be  sure  that  I  remember! 


WAITING. 

I  cannot  wean  my  wayward  heart  from  waiting, 
Though  the  steps  watched  for  never  come  anear; 

The  wearying  want  clings  to  it  unabating — 
The  fruitless  wish  for  presences  once  dear. 

No  fairer  eve  e'er  blessed  a  poet's  vision; 

No  softer  airs  e'er  kissed  a  fevered  brow; 
No  scene  more  truly  could  be  called  Elysian, 

Than  this  which  holds  my  gaze  enchanted  now. 

And  yet  I  pine; — this  beautiful  completeness 

Is  incomplete,  to  my  desiring  heart; 
'Tis  Beauty's  form,  without  her  soul  of  sweetness — 

The  pure,  but  chiseled  loveliness  of  art. 

There  is  no  longer  pleasure  in  emotion. 

I  envy  those  dead  souls  no  touch  can  thrill; 
Who — "painted  ships  upon  a  painted  ocean, "- 

Seem  to  be  moved,  yet  are  forever  still. 

Where  are  they  fled? — they  whose  delightful  voices, 
Whose  very  footsteps  had  a  charmed  fall : 

No  more,  no  more  their  sound  my  heart  rejoices: 
Change,  death,  and  distance  part  me  now  from  all. 


WAITING.  313 

And  this  fair  evening,  with  remembrance  teeming, 
Pierces  my  soul  with  every  sharp  regret; 

The  sweetest  beauty  saddens  to  my  seeming, 
Since  all  that's  fair  forbids  me  to  forget. 

Eyes  that  have  gazed  upon  yon  silver  crescent, 
'Till  filled  with  liglit,  then  turned  to  gaze  in  mine, 

Lips  that  could  clothe  a  fancy  evanescent, 

In  words  whose  magic  thrilled  the  brain  like  wine : 

Hands  that  have  wreathed  June's  roses  in  my  tresses, 
And  gathered  violets  to  deck  my  breast, 

Where  are  ye  now?     I  miss  your  dear  caresses — 
I  miss  the  lips,  the  eyes,  that  made  me  blest. 

Lonely  I  sit  and  watch  the  fitful  burning 

Of  prairie  fires,  far  off,  through  gathering  gloom; 

While  the  young  moon,  and  one  bright  star  returning 
Down  the  blue  solitude,  leave  Night  their  room. 

Gone  is  the  glimmer  of  the  silent  river; 

Hushed  is  the  wind  that  sped  the  leaves  to-day; 
Alone  through  silence  falls  the  crystal  shiver 

Of  the  sweet  starlight,  on  its  earthward  way. 

And  yet  I  wait,  how  vainly !  for  a  token — 
A  sigh,  a  touch,  a  whisper  from  the  past; 

Alas,  I  listen  for  a  word  unspoken, 

And  wail  for  arms  that  have  embraced  their  last. 

I  wish  no  more,  as  once  I  wished,  each  feeling 

To  grow  immortal  in  my  happy  breast; 
Since  not  to  feel  will  leave  no  wounds  for  healing — 

The  pulse  that  thrills  not  has  no  need  of  rest. 

As  the  conviction  sinks  into  my  spirit 

That  my  quick  heart  is  doomed  to  death  in  life; 

Or  that  these  pangs  must  pierce  and  never  sear  it, 
I  am  abandoned  to  despairing  strife. 


314  PALMA. 

To  the  lost  life,  alas!  no  more  returning — 
In  this  to  come  no  semblance  of  the  past — 

Only  to  wait! — hoping  this  ceaseless  yearning 
May,  'ere  long,  end — and  rest  may  come  at  last. 


PALMA. 

What  tellest  thou  to  heaven, 
Thou  royal  tropic  tree  ? 
At  morn  or  noon  or  even, 
Proud  dweller  by  the  sea, 
"What  is  thy  song  to  heaven  ? 

The  homesick  heart  that  fainted 
In  torrid  sun  and  air, 
With  peace  becomes  acquainted 
Beholding  thee  so  fair — 
With  joy  becomes  acquainted: 

And  charms  itself  with  fancies 
About  thy  kingly  race — 
With  gay  and  wild  romances 
That  mimic  thee  in  grace — 
Of  supple,  glorious  fancies. 

I  feel  thou  art  not  tender, 
Scion  of  sun  and  sea — 
The  wild-bird  does  not  render 
To  thee  its  minstrelsy — 
Fearing  thou  art  not  tender: 

But  calm,  serene  and  saintly, 
As  highborn  things  should  be: 
Who,  if  they  love  us  faintly, 
Make  us  love  reverently, 
Because  they  are  so  saintly. 


PALMA.  315 


To  be  loved  without  loving, 
O  proud  and  princely  palm! 
Is  to  fancy  our  ship  moving 
With  the  ocean  at  dead  calm — 
The  joy  of  love  is  loving. 

Because  the  Sun  did  sire  thee, 
The  Ocean  nurse  thy  youth, 
Because  the  Stars  desire  .thee, 
The  warm  winds  whisper  truth, 
Shall  nothing  ever  fire  thee  ? 

What  is  thy  tale  to  heaven 
In  the  sultry  tropic  noon  ? 
What  whisperest  thou  at  even 
To  the  dusky  Indian  Moon — 
Has  she  sins  to  be  forgiven? 

Keep  all  her  secrets;  loyal 
As  only  great  souls  are — 
As  only  souls  most  royal, 
To  the  flower  or  to  the  star 
Alike  are  purely  loyal. 

0  Palma,  if  thou  nearest, 
Thou  proud  and  princely  tree ! 
Thou  knowest  that  my  Dearest 
Is  emblemed  forth  in  thee — 
My  kingly  Palm,  my  Dearest. 

1  am  his  Moon  admiring, 
His  wooing  Wind,  his  Star; 
And  I  glory  in  desiring 
My  Palm-tree  from  afar — 
Glad  as  happier  lovers  are> 
Am  happy  in  desiring ! 


316  MAKING  MOAN. 


MAKING    MOAN. 

I  have  learned  how  vainly  given 
Life's  most  precious  things  may  be. 

— Landon. 

O,  Christ,  to-night  I  bring 
A  sad,  weak  henrt,  to  lay  before  thy  feet; 

Too  sad,  almost,  to  cling 

Even  to  Thee;  too  suffering, 
If  Thou  shouldst  pierce  me,  to  regard  the  sting; 
Too  stunned  to  feel  the  pity  I  entreat 
Closing  around  me  its  embraces  sweet. 

Shepherd,  who  gatherest  up 
The  weary  ones  from  all  the  world's  highways; 
And  bringest  them  to  sup 
Of  Thy  bread,  and  Thy  blessed  cup; 
If  so  Thou  will,  lay  me  within  the  scope 
Only  of  Thy  great  tenderness,  that  rays 
Too  melting  may  not  reach  me  from  Thy  face. 

Here  let  me  lie,  and  press 
My  forehead's  pain  out  on  Thy  mantle's  hem; 
And  chide  not  my  distress, 
For  this,  that  I  have  loved  thee  less, 
In  loving  so  much  some,  whose  sordidness 
Has  left  me  outcast,  at  the  last,  from  them 
And  their  poor  love,  which  I  cannot  contemn. 

No,  cannot,  even  now, 
Put  Thee  before  them  in  my  broken  heart. 

But,  gentle  Shepherd,  Thou 

Dost  even  such  as  I  allow 
The  healing  of  Thy  presence.     Let  my  brow 
Be  covered  from  thy  sight,  while  I,  apart, 
Brood  over  in  dull  pain  my  mortal  hurt. 


CHILDHOOD.  317 


CHILDHOOD. 

A  child  of  scarcely  seven  years, 

Light  haired,  and  fair  as  any  lily; 
With  pure  eyes  ready  in  their  tears 

At  chiding  words,  or  glances  chilly; 
And  sudden  smiles,  as  inly  bright 

As  lamps  through  alabaster  shining, 
With  ready  mirth,  and  fancies  light, 

Dashed  with  strange  dreams  of  child-divining: 
A  child  in  all  infantile  grace, 
Yet  with  the  angel  lingering  in  her  face. 

A  curious,  eager,  questioning  child, 

Whose  logic  leads  to  naive  conclusions; 
Her  little  knowledge  reconciled 

To  truth  amid  some  odd  confusions; 
Yet  credulous,  and  loving  much 

The  problems  hardest  for  her  reason, 
Placing  her  lovely  faith  on  such, 

And  deeming  disbelief  a  treason; 

Doubting  that  which  she  can  disprove, 
And  wisely  trusting  all  the  rest  to  love. 

Such  graces  dwell  beside  your  hearth, 

And  bless  you  in  a  priceless  pleasure, 
Leaving  no  sweeter  spot  on  earth 

Than  that  which  holds  your  household  treasure. 
No  entertainment  ever  yet 

Had  half  the  exquisite  completeness — 
The  gladness  without  one  regret, 

You  gather  from  your  darling's  sweetness: 
An  angel  sits  beside  the  hearth 
Where  e're  an  innocent  child  is  found  on  earth. 


318       A  LITTLE  BIRD  THAT  EVERY  ONE  KNOWS. 


A  LITTLE  BIRD  THAT  EVERY  ONE  KNOWS. 

There's  a  little  bird  with  a  wondrous  song— 
A  little  bird  that  every  one  knows — 
(Though  it  sings  for  the  most  part  under  the  rose), 
That  is  petted  and  pampered  wherever  it  goes, 
And  nourished  in  bosoms  gentle  and  strong. 

This  petted  bird  has  a  crooked  beak 
And  eyes  like  live  coals  set  in  its  head, 
A  gray  breast  dappled  with  glowing  red — 
DABBLED — not  dappled,  I  should  have  said, 
From  a  fancy  it  has  of  which  I  shall  speak. 

This  eccentricity  that  I  name 
Is,  that  whenever  the  bird  would  sing- 
It  darts  its  black  head  under  its  wing, 
And  moistens  its  beak  in — darling  thing! — 
A  human  heart  that  is  broken  with  shame. 

Then  this  cherished  bird  its  song  begins — 
Always  begins  its  song  one  way — 
"With  two  little  dulcet  words,  THEY  SAY, 
Carolled  in  such  a  charming  way 
That  the  listener's  heart  it  surely  wins. 

This  sweetest  of  songsters  sits  beside 
Every  hearth  in  this  Christian  land, 
Ever  so  humble  or  never  so  grand, 
Gloating  o'er  crumbs  which  many  a  hand 
Gathers  to  nourish  it,  far  and  wide. 

Over  each  crumb  that  it  gathers  up 
It  winniDgiy  carols  those  two  soft  words 
In  the  dulcet  notes  of  the  sweetest  of  birds, 
Darting  its  sharp  beak  under  its  wing 
As  it  might  in  a  ruby  drinking-cup. 


WAYWARD  LOVE.  319 

A  delicate  thing  is  our  bird  withal 

And  owns  but  a  fickle  appetite, 

So  that  old  and  young  take  a  keen  delight 

In  serving  it  ever,  day  and  night, 

With  the  last  gay  heart  now  turned  to  gall. 

Thus,  though  a  dainty  dear,  it  sings 

In  a  very  well-conditioned  way 

A  truly  wonderful  sort  of  lay, 

Whose  burden  is  ever  the  same — THEY  SAY — 

Darting  its  dabbled  beak  under  its  wings. 


WAYWARD    LOVE. 

I  leant  above  your  chair  last  night, 

And  on  your  brow  once  and  again, 
I  pressed  a  kiss  as  still  and  light 

As  I  would  have  your  bosom's  pain. 
You  did  not  feel  the  gentle  touch, 

It  gave  you  neither  grief  nor  pleasure, 
Though  that  caress  held,  oh,  so  much, 

Of  love  and  blessing  without  measure. 

Thus  ever  when  I  see  you  sad, 

My  heart  toward  you  overflows; 
But  when  again  you're  gay  and  glad, 

I  shrink  back  into  cold  repose, 
I  know  not  why  I  like  you  best, 

O'erclouded  by  a  passing  sorrow— 
Unless  because  it  gives  a  zest 

To  the  insouciance  of  to-morrow. 

You're  welcome  to  my  light  caress, 
And  all  the  love  that  with  it  went; 

To  live,  and  love  you  any  less, 

Would  rob  me  of  my  soul's  content. 


320  A  LYRIC  OF  LIFE. 

Continue  sometimes  to  be  sad, 
That  I  may  feel  that  pity  tender, 

Which  grieves  for  you,  and  yet  is  glad 
Of  an  excuse  for  love's  surrender. 


A    LYRIC    OF    LIFE. 

Said  one  to  me:  "  I  seem  to  be — 
Like  a  bird  blown  out  to  sea, 
In  the  hurricane's  wild  track — 
Lost,  wing-weary,  beating  back 
Yainly  toward  a  fading  shore, 
It  shall  rest  on  nevermore." 

Said  I:  "  Betide,  some  good  ships  ride, 

Over  all  the  waters  wide; 

Spread  your  wings  upon  the  blast, 

Let  it  bear  you  far  and  fast : 

In  some  sea,  serene  and  blue, 

Succor-ships  are  waiting  you." 

This  soul  then  said:  "  Would  I  were  dead- 
Billows  rolling  o'er  my  head! 
Those  that  sail  the  ships  will  cast 
Storm-waifs  back  into  the  blast; 
Omens  evil  will  they  call 
What  the  hurricane  lets  fall." 

For  my  reply :  ' '  Beneath  the  sky 

Countless  isles  of  beauty  lie: 

Waifs  upon  the  ocean  thrown, 

After  tossings  long  and  lone, 

To  those  blessed  shores  have  come, 

Finding  there  love,  heaven,  and  home." 

This  soul  to  me :   ' '  The  seething  sea, 
Tossing  hungry  under  me, 


FROM  AN  UNPUBLISHED  POEM.  321 

I  fear  to  trust;  the  ships  I  fear; 
I  see  no  isle  of  beauty  near; 
The  sun  is  blotted  out — no  more 
'Twill  shine  for  me  on  any  shore." 

Once  more  I  said:  "  Be  not  afraid; 
Yield  to  the  storm  without  a  dread; 
For  the  tree,  by  tempests  torn 
From  its  native  soil,  is  borne 
Green,  to  where  its  ripened  fruit 
Gives  a  sturdy  forest-root. 

That  which  we  lose,  we  think  we  choose, 

Oft,  from  slavery  to  use. 

Shocks  that  break  our  chains,  tho'  rude, 

Open  paths  to  highest  good: 

Wise,  my  sister  soul,  is  she 

Who  takes  of  life  the  proffered  key." 


FROM  AN  UNPUBLISHED  POEM. 

"  Nay,  Hylas,  I  have  come 

To  where  life's  landscape  takes  a  western  slope, 
And  breezes  from  the  occidental  shores 
Sigh  thro'  the  thinning  locks  around  my  brow, 
And  on  my  cheeks  fan  nickering  summer  fires. 
Oh,  winged  feet  of  Time,  forget  your  flight, 
And  let  me  dream  of  those  rose-scented  bowers 
That  lapped  my  soul  in  youth's  enchanted  East ! 
It  needs  no  demon-essence  of  Hasheesh 
To  flash  that  sunrise  glory  in  my  eyes ! — 
It  needs  no  Flora  to  bring  back  those  flowers — 
No  gay  Apollo  to  sound  liquid  reeds — 
No  muse  to  consecrate  the  hills  and  streams — 
No  God  or  oracle  within  those  groves 
21 


322  FROM  AN   UNPUBLISHED  POEM. 

To  render  sacred  all  the  emerald  glooms: 
For  here  dwelt  such  bright  angels  as  attend 
The  innocent  ways  of  youth's  unsullied  feet; 
And  all  the  beautiful  band  of  sinless  hopes, 
Twining  their  crowns  of  pearl-white  amaranth; 
And  rosy,  dream-draped,  sapphire-eyed  desires 
Whose  twin-born  deities  were  Truth  and  Faith 
Having  their  altars  over  all  the  land. 
Beauty  held  court  within  its  vales  by  day, 
And  Love  made  concert  with  the  nightingales 
In  singing  'mong  the  myrtles,  starry  eves/' 

"You  are  inspired,  Zobedia,  your  eyes 
Look  not  upon  the  present  summer  world, 
But  see  some  mystery  beyond  the  close 
Of  this  pale  blue  horizon." 

"Erewhile  I  wandered  from  this  happy  land. 
Crowned  with  its  roses,  wearing  in  my  eyes 
Reflections  of  its  shining  glorious  heaven, 
And  bearing  on  my  breast  and  in  my  hands 
Its  violets,  and  lilies  white  and  sweet,— 
Following  the  music  floating  in  the  air 
Made  by  the  fall  of  founts,  the  voice  of  streams 
And  murmur  of  the  winds  among  the  trees, 
I  strayed  in  reveries  of  soft  delight 
Beyond  the  bounds  of  this  delicious  East. 

But  oh,  the  splendors  of  that  newer  clime! 
It  was  as  if  those  oriental  dreams 
In  which  my  soul  was  steeped  to  fervidness, 
Were  here  transmuted  to  their  golden  real 
With  added  glories  for  each  shape  or  hue. 
The  stately  trees  wore  coronals  of  flowers 
That  swung  their  censers  in  the  mid -day  sun: 
The  pines  and  palms  of  my  delightful  east 
Chaunted  their  wild  songs  nearer  to  the  stars; 


FROM  AN   UNPUBLISHED  POEM.  323 

Even  the  roses  had  more  exquisite  hues. 

And  for  one  blossom  I  had  left  behind 

I  found  a  bower  in  this  fragrant  laud. 

Bright  birds,  no  larger  than  the  costly  gems 

The  river  bedded  in  their  golden  sands, 

Sparkle  like  prismal  rain-drops  'mong  the  leaves; 

And  others  sang,  or  flashed  their  plumage  gay 

Like  rainbow  fragments  on  my  dazzled  eyes. 

The  sky  had  warmer  teints :  I  could  not  tell 

Whether  the  heavens  lent  color  to  the  flowers, 

Or  but  reflected  that  which  glowed  in  them. 

The  gales  that  blew  from  off  the  cloud-lost  hills, 

Struck  from  the  clambering  vines  Eolian  songs, 

That  mingled  with  the  splashing  noise  of  founts, 

In  music  such  as  stirs  to  passionate  thought: 

This  peerless  land  was  thronged  with  souls  like  mine, 

"Straying  from  East  to  South,  impelled  unseen, 

And  lost,  like  mine,  in  its  enchanted  vales: — 

Souls  that  conversed  apart  in  pairs,  or  sang 

Low  breeze-like  airs,  more  tender  than  sweet  words; 

Save  here  and  there  a  wanderer  like  myself, 

Dreaming  alone,  and  dropping  silent  tears, 

Scarce  knowing  why,  upon  the  little  group 

Of  Eastern  flowers  we  had  not  yet  resigned: — 

'Till  one  came  softly  smiling  in  my  eyes, 

And  dried  their  tears  with  radiance  from  his  own. 

At  last  it  came — I  knew  not  how  it  came — 

But  a  tornado  swept  this  sunny  South, 

And  when  I  woke  once  more,  I  stood  alone. 

My  senses  sickened  at  the  dismal  waste, 

And  caring  not,  now  all  things  bright  were  dead, 

That  a  volcano  rolled  its  burning  tide 

In  fiery  rivers  far  athwart  the  land, 

I  turned  my  feet  to  aimless  wanderings. 

The  equatorial  sun  poured  scorching  beams, 


324  NEVADA. 

On  my  defenceless  head.     The  burning  winds 

Seemed  drying  up  the  blood  within  my  veins. 

The  straggling  flowers  that  had  outlived  the  storm 

Won  but  a  feeble,  half-contemptuous  smile; 

And  if  a  bird  attempted  a  brief  song, 

I  closed  my  ears  lest  it  should  burst  my  brain. 

After  much  wandering  I  came  at  last 

To  cooler  skies  and  a  less  stifling  air; 

And  finally  to  this  more  temperate  clime. 

Where  every  beauty  is  of  milder  type — 

Where  the  simoon  nor  tempest  ever  come, 

And  I  can  soothe  the  fever  of  my  soul 

In  the  bland  breezes  blowing  from  the  West." 


NEVADA. 

Sphinx,  down  whose  rugged  face 
The  sliding  centuries  their  furrows  cleave 
By  sun  and  frost  and  cloud-burst;  scarce  to  leave 

Perceptible  a  trace 

Of  age  or  sorrow; 

Faint  hints  of  yesterdays  with  no  to-morrow; — 
My  mind  regards  thee  with  a  questioning  eye, 

To  know  thy  secret,  high. 

If  Theban  mystery, 

With  head  of  woman,  soaring,  bird-like  wings 
And  serpent's  tail  on  lion's  trunk,  were  things 

Puzzling  in  history; 

And  men  invented 
For  it  an  origin  which  represented 
Chimera  and  a  monster  double-headed, 

By  myths  Phenician  wedded — 

Their  issue  being  this — 
This  most  chimerical  and  wonderous  thing 


NEVADA.  325 

From  whose  dumb  mouth  not  even  the  gods  could  wriDg 

Truth,  nor  antithesis: 

Then,  what  I  think  is, 

This  creature — being  chief  among  men's  sphinxes — 
Is  eloquent,  and  overflows  with  story, 

Beside  thy  silence  hoary ! 

Nevada! — desert  waste! 
Mighty,  and  inhospitable,  and  stern; 
Hiding  a  meaning  over  which  we  yearn 

In  eager,  panting  haste — 

Grasping  and  losing, 

Still  being  deluded  ever  by' our  choosing — 
Answer  us  Sphinx :  What  is  thy  meaning  double 

But  endless  toil  and  trouble  ? 

Inscrutable,  men  strive 
To  rend  thy  secret  from  thy  rocky  breast; 
Breaking  their  hearts,  and  periling  heaven's  rest 

For  hopes  that  cannot  thrive; 

Whilst  unrelenting, 

Upon  thy  mountain  throne,  and  unrepenting, 
Thou  sittest,  basking  in  a  fervid  sun, 

Seeing  or  hearing  none. 

I  sit  beneath  thy  stars, 

The  shallop  moon  beached  on  a  bank  of  clouds — ; 
And  see  thy  mountains  wrapped  in  shadowed  shrouds, 

Glad  that  the  darkness  bars 

The  day's  suggestion — 
The  endless  repetition  of  one  question; 
Glad  that  thy  stony  face  I  cannot  see, 

Nevada — Mystery ! 


326  THE    VINE. 

THE    VINE. 

"  Too  many  clusters  weaken  the  vine" — 
And  that  is  win',  on  this  morn  in  May, 

She  who  should  walk  doth  weakly  recline 

By  the  window  whose  view  overlooks  the  Bay; 

While  I  and  the  "clusters"  dance  in  the  sun, 
Defying  the  breeze  coming  in  from  the  sea, 
Mocking  the  bird-song  and  chasing  the  bee, 

Letting  our  fullness  of  mirth  over-run, 

While  the  "  Vine  "  at  the  window  smiles  down  on  our 
glee. 

If  I  should  vow  that  these  "  clusters"  are  fair, 
So,  you  would  say,  are  a  million  more; 

Ah,  even  jewels  a  rank  must  share — 
Not  every  diamond's  a  Koh-i-noor! 

Thus  when  our  LILLIAN,  needing  but  wings, 
Plays  us  the  queen  of  the  fairies,  we  deem 
Grace  such  as  hers  a  bewildering  dream — 

Her  laughter,  her  gestures,  a  dozen  things, 
Furnish  our  worshiping  fondness  a  theme. 

Or  when  our  ALICE,  scarcely  less  tall, 

And  none  the  less  fair,  tries  her  slim  baby  feet, 
Or  a  new  has  lisped,  to  the  pride  of  us  all, 

Smiling,  we  cry,  "  was  aught  ever  so  sweet?" 
Even  wee  BERTHA,  turning  her  eyes, 

Searching  and  slow  from  one  face  to  another — 
Wrinkling  her  brow  in  a  comic  surprise, 

And  winking  so  soberly  at  her  pale  mother, 
For  a  baby,  is  wondrously  pretty  and  wise! 

Well,  let  the  "  vine  "  recline  in  the  sun — 

Three  such  rare  "  clusters  "  in  three  short  years, 
Have  sapped  the  red  wine  in  her  veins  that  should 
run — 


WHAT  THE  SEA   SAW   TO  ME.  327 

For  the  choicest  of  species  the  gardener  fears! 
LILLIAN  >  queen  of  the  lilies  shall  be, 

Fair,  tall  and  graceful — queenly  in  will; 
ALICE  a  Provence  rose — rarely  sweet  she; 

BEKTHA  NARCTSSA — white  daffodil — 
And    the    "vine,"   once   more   strong,    shall    entwine 
around  the  three  ! 


WHAT   THE   SEA   SAID   TO   ME. 

One  evening  as  I  sat  beside  the  sea, 
A  little  rippling  wave  stole  up  to  me, 
And  whispered  softly,  yet  impressively, 

The  word  Eternity : 

I  smiled,  that  anything  so  small  should  utter, 
A  word  the  ocean  in  its  wrath  might  mutter; 
And  with  a  mirthful  fancy,  vainly  strove, 
To  suit  its  cadence  to  some  word  of  love — 
But  all  the  little  wave  would  say  to  me, 
"Was,  over  and  again,  Eternity! 

After  a  time,  the  winds,  from  their  dark  caves, 
Arose,  and  wrestled  with  the  swelling  waves, 
Shrieking  as  doth  a  madman  when  he  raves; 

Yet  still  Eternity 

Was  spoken  audibly  unto  my  hearing; 
While  foaming  billows,  their  huge  crests  up-rearing, 
Kushed  with  a  furious  force  upon  the  shore, 
That  only  answered  with  a  sullen  roar; 
As  if  it  hoarsely  echoed  what  the  sea 
Said  with  such  emphasis — Eternity ! 

And  by  and  by,  the  sky  grew  dun  and  dim; 
Soon  all  was  darkness,  save  the  foam's  white  gleam; 
And  all  was  silence  save  the  sea's  deep  hymn- 
That  hymn  Eternity : 


328  HYMN. 

While  some  dread  presence,  all  the  darkness  filling, 
Crept  round  my  heart,  its  healthy  pulses  chilling; 
Making  the  night,  so  awful  unto  me, 
More  fearful  with  that  word  Eternity. 

So  that  my  spirit,  trembling  and  afraid, 
Bowed  down  itself  before  its  God,  and  prayed 
For  His  strong  arm  of  terror  to  be  stayed; 

And  sighed  Eternity 

From  its  white  lips,  as  the  dark  sea,  subsiding, 
Sank  into  broken  murmurs;  and  the  gliding 
Of  the  soothed  waters  seemed  once  more  to  me 
The  whisper  I  first  heard,  Eternity. 

But  now  I  mocked  not  what  the  ripple  said: 

I  only  reverently  bent  my  head, 

While  the  pure  stars,  unveiled,  their  lustre  shed 

Upon  the  peaceful  sea — 
And  the  mild  moon,  with  a  majestic  motion, 
Uprose,  and  shed  upon  the  murmuring  ocean, 
Her  calm  and  radiant  glory,  as  if  she 
Knew  it  the  symbol  of  Eternity. 


H  Y  M  N. 

Down  through  the  dark,  my  God, 

Beach  me  Thy  hand; 
Guide  me  along  the  road 

I  fail  to  understand. 
Blindly  I  grope  my  way, 

In  doubt  and  fear, 
Uncertain  when  I  pray 

If  Thou  art  near. 

O,  God,  renew  my  trust, 
Hear  when  I  cry; 


DO  YOU  HEAR  THE  WOMEN  PRAYING.  329 

Out  of  the  cloud  and  dust 

Lift  me  to  thee  on  high. 
The  crooked  paths  make  plain, 

The  burden  light; 
Touch  me  and  heal  my  pain, 

And  clear  my  sight. 

O,  take  my  hand  in  Thine, 

And  lead  me  so 
That  all  my  steps  incline 

In  Thy  right  way  to  go. 
Out  of  this  awful  night 

Some  whisper  send, 
That  I  may  feel  my  God, 

My  loving  friend. 

O,  let  me  feel  and  see 

Thy  hand  and  face ; 
And  let  me  learn  of  Thee 

My  true  right  place. 
For  I  am  Thine,  and  Thou 

Art  also  mine. 
Unto  Thy  will  I  bow, 

Helper  divine ! 


DO  YOU  HEAR  THE  WOMEN  PRAYING? 

[Read  before  the  Women's  Prayer  League  of  Portland,  Oregon,  May 
27,  1874.] 

Do  you  hear  the  women  praying,  oh  my  brothers? 

Do  you  hear  what  words  they  say  ? 
These,  this  free-born  nation's  wives  and  mothers, 

Bowing,  where  you  proudly  stand,  to  pray! 
Can  you  coldly  look  upon  their  faces, 

Pale,  sad  faces,  seamed  with  frequent  tears; 


330  DO  YOU  HEAR  THE  WOMEN  PRAYING. 

See  their  hands  uplifted  in  their  places — 

Hands  that  toiled  for  all  your  boyhood's  years? 

Can  you  see  your  wives  and  daughters  pleading 

In  the  dust  you  spurn  beneath  your  feet, 
Baring  hearts  for  years  in  secret  bleeding, 

To  the  scoffs  and  jestings  of  the  street? 
Can  you  hear,  and  yet  not  heed  the  crying 

Of  the  children  perishing  for  bread? 
Born  in  fear,  not  love,  and  daily  dying, 

Cursed  of  God,  they  think,  but  cursed  of  you  instead? 

Do  you  hear  the  women  praying,  oh  my  brothers? 

Hear  the  oft-repeated  burden  of  their  prayer — 
Hear  them  asking  for  one  boon  above  all  others — 

Not  for  vengeance  on  the  wrongs  they  have  to  bear; 
But  imploring,  as  their  Lord  did,  "  God  forgive  them, 

For  they  know  not  what  they  do; 
Strike  the  sin,  but  spare  the  sinners — save  them" — 

Meaning,  oh  ye  men  and  brothers,  you  ! 

For  your  heels  have  ground  the  women's  faces; 

You  have  coined  their  blood  and  tears  for  gold; 
Have  betrayed  their  kisses  and  embraces — 

Returned  their  love  with  curses  twenty  fold; 
Made  the  wife's  crown  one  of  thorns  and  not  of  honor, 

Made  her  motherhood  a  pain  and  dread; 
Heaped  life's  toil  unrecompensed  upon  her? 

Laid  her  sons  upon  her  bosom,  dead! 

Do  you  hear  the  women  praying,  oh  my  brothers? 

Have  you  not  one  word  to  say? 
Will  SL  just  God  be  as  gentle  as  these  mothers, 

If  you  dare  to  say  them  nay  ? 
Oh,  ye  men,  God  waits  for  you  to  answer 

The  prayers  that  to  him  rise, 
He  waits  to  know  if  you  are  just  ere  He  is — 

There  your  deliverance  lies! 


"OUR  LIFE  IS   TWOFOLD."  331 

Rise  and  assert  the  manhood  of  this  nation, 
Its  courage,  honor,  might — 

Wipe  off  the  dust  of  our  humiliation- 
Dare  nobly  to  do  right! 

Shall  women  plead  from  out  the  dust  forever  ? 
Will  you  not  work,  men,  if  you  cannot  pray? 

Hold  up  the  suppliant  hands  with  your  endeavor, 
And  seize  the  world's  salvation  while  you  may. 

Yes,  from  the  eastern  to  the  western  ocean, 

The  sound  of  prayer  is  heard; 
And  in  our  hearts  great  billows  of  emotion 

At  every  breath  are  stirred. 
From  mountain  tops  of  prayer  down  to  sin's  valley 

The  voice  of  women  sounds  the  cry,  "  Come  up!'3 
O,  men  and  brothers,  heed  that  cry,  and  rally — 

Help  us  to  dash  to  earth  the  deadly  cup ! 


"OUR  LIFE  IS  TWOFOLD." 

Sweet,  kiss  my  eyelids  close,  and  let  me  lie, 
On  this  old-fashioned  sofa,  in  the  dim 
And  purple  twilight,  shut  out  from  the  sky, 
Which  is  too  garish  for  my  softer  whim. 
And  while  I,  looking  inward  on  my  thought, 
Tell  thee  wrhat  phantoms  thicken  in  its  air. 
Twine  thou  thy  gentle  fingers,  slumber-fraught, 
With  the  loose  shreds  of  my  disheveled  hair: 
I  shall  see  inly  better  if  thou  keep 
My  outer  senses  in  a  charmed  sleep. 

Sweet  friend ! — I  love  that  pleasant  name  of  friend- 
We  walk  not  ever  singly,  through  the  world; 
But  even  as  our  shadow  doth  attend 
Our  going  in  the  sunshine,  and  is  furled 


332  "OUR  LIFE  IS  TWOFOLD." 

About  us  in  the  darkness — so  that  shade 

Which  haunts  our  other  self,  is  faintly  seen 

Beside  us  in  our  gladness,  and  is  made 

To  wrap  us  coldy  life's  bright  hours  between. 

Unconsciously  we  court  it.     In  our  youth, 

While  yet  our  morning  sky  is  pink  with  joy, 

We,  curious  if  our  happiness  be  truth, 

Try  to  discern  the  shadow  of  alloy. 

O,  I  remember  well  the  earliest  time 

A  sorrow  touched  me,  and  I  nursed  it  then; 

Tho'  but  few  summers  of  our  northern  clime 

Had  sunned  my  growth  among  the  souls  of  men. 

In  an  old  wood,  reputed  for  its  age, 
And  for  its  beauty  wild  and  picturesque; 
The  bound  and  goal  of  each  day's  pilgrimage, 
Where  were  all  forms -of  graceful  and  grotesque; 
And  countless  hues,  from  the  dark  stately  pine 
That  whispered  its  wild  mysteries  to  my  ear, 
To  the  smooth  silver  of  the  birch-trees  shine, 
Showing  between  the  aspens  straight  and  fair; 
With  forest  flowers,  and  delicate  vines  that  crept 
From  the  rich  soil  far  up  among  the  trees, 
Seeking  that  light  their  boughs  did  intercept, 
And  dalliance  and  caresses  of  the  breeze. 
In  midst  of  these,  sheltered  from  sun  and  wind 
Glimmered  a  lake,  in  long  and  shining  curves, 
Like  a  bright  fillet  that  should  serve  to  bind 
That  scene  to  earth — if  she  the  gem  deserves! 
For  gem  it  was,  as  proud  upon  her  brow 
As  jewels  on  the  forehead  of  a  queen; 
And  one  thought  as  one  turned  from  it,  of  how 
Eve  exiled,  must  have  missed  some  just  such  scene. 
O,  there  I  type  my  life!     I  used  to  sigh 
Sitting  on  this  side,  with  my  lap  piled  up 
With  violets  of  the  real  sapphire  dye, 


"OUR  LIFE  IS  TWOFOLD."  333 

For  the  gay  gold  of  the  bright  buttercup 
Spangling  the  green  sod  on  the  other  side — 
For  the  lake's  breadth  was  but  an  arrow's  flight, 
And  the  brief  distance  did  not  serve  to  hide 
What  yet  could  not  be  reached  except  by  sight. 

Day  after  day  I  dreamed  there,  while  my  heart 
Gathered  up  knowledge  in  its  childish  way, 
Making  fine  pictures  with  unconscious  art, 
And  learning  beauty  more  and  more  each  day. 
Ever  and  ever  haunted  I  that  spot — 
Sitting  in  dells  scooped  out  between  the  hills, 
That  rising  close  around  me,  formed  a  grot 
Fragrant  with  ferns,  and  musical  with  rills. 
Far  up  above  me  grew  the  long-armed  beech, 
Dropping  its  branches  down  in  graceful  bent; 
While  farther  up,  beyond  my  utmost  reach, 
Stood  dusky  hemlocks,  crowning  the  ascent. 
And  all  about  were  sweeter  sights  and  sounds 
Than  elsewhere,  but  in  poet's  dream,  abounds. 

Thus,  and  because  my  life  was  all  too  fair, 

I  sought  to  color  it  with  thoughts  I  nursed 

In  sylvan  solitudes :  and  in  the  air 

Of  these  soft,  silent  influences,  I  first 

Saw,  or  felt,  rather,  that  the  shadow  fell 

Upon  rny  pathway  from  the  light  behind — 

The  light  of  youth's  first  joyousness.     Ah,  well, 

If  it  had  stayed  there,  nor  been  more  unkind! 

My  earliest  sorrow  was  a  flower's  death — 

At  which  I  wept  until  my  swollen  eyes 

Refused  to  shed  more  tears — just  that  my  wreath 

One  morn  in  autumn  lacked  its  choicest  dyes. 

So,  knowing  what  it  was  to  have  a  loss, 

I  went  on  losing,  and  the  shadow  grew 

Darker  and  longer,  'till  it  lies  across 


334  SOUVENIR. 

My  pathway  to  the  measure  of  my  view. 
We  all  remember  sorrow's  first  impress — 
No  matter  whether  wre  had  cause  to  grieve, 
Or  whether  sad  in  very  willfulness— 
The  leason  is  the  same  that  we  receive. 
And  afterwards,  when  the  great  shadow  falls — 
The  tempest — when  the  lightning's  flash  reveals 
The  darkness  brooding  o'er  us,  and  appals 
Hope  by  the  terror  of  the  stroke  it  deals — 
Then,  how  the  shadow  hugs  us  in  its  fold! 
We  see  no  light  behind,  and  none  to  come; 
But  dumbly  shiver  in  the  gloom  and  cold, 
Or  with  despair  lie  down,  and  wait  our  doom. 

Sweet,  press  thy  cheek  upon  my  own  again — 
Even  now  my  life's  dark  ghost  is  haunting  nigh: 
Sing  me  to  sleep  with  some  old  favorite  strain — 
Some  gentle  poet's  loving  lullaby; 
For  I  would  dream,  and  in  my  dream  forget 
Our  twofold  life  is  full  of  shadows  set. 


SOUVENIR. 

You  ask  me,  "Do  you  think  of  me? 

Dear,  thoughts  of  thee  are  like  this  river, 
Which  pours  itself  into  the  sea, 

Yet  empties  its  own  channel  never. 

All  other  thoughts  are  like  these  sail 
Drifting  the  river's  surface  over; 

Tltey  veer  about  with  every  gale — 
The  river  keeps  its  course  forever. 

So  deep  and  still,  so  strong  and  true, 
The  current  of  my  soul  sets  thee-ward, 

Thy  river  I,  my  ocean  you, 

And  all  myself  am  running  seaward. 


LINES  WRITTEN  IN  AN  ALBUM.  335 

I  ONLY  WISH  TO  KNOW. 

Pray  do  not  take  the  kiss  again 

I  risked  so  much  in  getting, 
Nor  let  my  blushes  make  you  vain 

To  your  and  my  regretting. 
I'm  sure  I've  heard  your  sex  repeat 

A  thousand  times  or  so, 
That  stolen  kisses  are  most  sweet — 

I  only  wished  to  know! 

I  own  'twas  not  so  neatly  done 

As  you  know  how  to  do  it, 
And  that  the  fright  out-did  the  fun, 

But  still  I  do  not  rue  it. 
I  can  afford  the  extra  beat 

My  heart  took  at  your  "Oh!" 
"Which  plainly  said  that  kiss  was  sweet — 

When  I  so  wished  to  know! 

Nay,  I  wrill  not  give  back  the  kiss, 

Nor  will  I  take  a  second; 
Creme  de  la  creme  of  pain  and  bliss 

This  one  shall  e'er  be  reckoned. 
The  pain  was  mine,  the  bliss  was — ours, 

You  smile  to  hear  it  so; 
But  the  same  thought  was  surely  yours, 

As  I  have  cause  to  know. 


LINES  WRITTEN  IN  AN  ALBUM. 

The  highest  use  of  happy  love  is  this; 

To  make  us  loving  to  the  loveless  ones: 
Willing  indeed  to  halve  our  meed  of  bliss, 
If  our  sweet  plenty  others'  want  atones: 
Of  love's  abundance  may  God  give  thee  store, 
To  spend  in  love's  sweet  charities,  LENORE. 


336  THE  POETS  MINISTERS. 


LOVE'S    FOOTSTEPS. 

I  sang  a  song  of  olden  times, 
Sitting  upon  our  sacred  hill — 
Sang  it  to  feel  my  bosom  thrill 

To  the  sweet  pathos  of  its  rhymes. 

I  trilled  the  music  o'er  and  o'er, 
Arid  happy,  gazed  upon  the  scene, 
Thinking  that  there  had  never  been 

So  blue  a  sea,  so  fair  a  shore. 

A  vague  half  dream  was  in  my  mind; 

I  hardly  saw  how  sat  the  sun; 

I  noted  not  the  day  was  gone 
The  rosy  western  hills  behind. 

'Till,  soft  as  if  Apollo  blew 
For  me  the  sweet  Thessalian  flute, 
1  heard  a  sound  which  made  me  mute, 

And  more  than  singing  thrilled  me  through. 

THY  STEP — well  known  and  well  beloved! 

No  more  I  dreamed  on  shore  or  sea; 

I  thought  of,  saw  but  only  thee, 
Nor  spoke,  but  blushed  to  be  so  moved. 


THE    POET'S    MINISTERS. 

POET. 

Oh,  my  soul !  the  draught  is  bitter 
Yet  it  must  be  sweetly  drunken : 

Heart  and  soul !  the  grinding  fetter 
Galls,  yet  have  ye  never  shrunken: 

Heart  and  soul,  and  pining  spirit, 
Fail  me  not  !  no  coward  weakness 


THE  POETS  MINISTERS.  337 

Such  as  ye  are  should  inherit — 

Be  ye  strong  even  in  your  meekness. 

Born  were  ye  to  these  strange  uses, 

To  brief  joy  and  crushing  ill, 
To  small  good  and  great  abuses; 

Yet  oh,  yield  not,  till  they  kill. 
The  stag  wounded  runneth  steady 

With  his  blood  in  streams  a-gushing; 
Soul  and  spirit,  be  ye  ready 

For  the  arrows  toward  ye  rushing. 

SPIRIT    OF   THE    FLOWERS. 

Now  what  ails  our  gentle  friend  ? 

In  his  eye  a  meaning  double, 
Sorrow  and  defiance  blend — 

Let  us  soothe  him  of  his  trouble. 
Poet !  do  not  pass  us  by  : 

See  how  we  are  robed  to  meet  you; 
Heed  you  not  our  perfumed  sigh  ? 

Heed  you  not  how  sweet  we  greet  you  ? 
Ever  since  the  breath  of  morn 

We  have  waited  for  your  coming, 
Fearing  when  the  bee's  dull  horn 

Round  our  quiet  bower  was  humming : 
We  have  kept  our  sweets  for  thee — 

Poet,  do  not  pass  us  by  : 
Place  us  on  thy  breast,  for  see  ! 

By  the  sunset  we  must  die. 

SPIRIT    OF   THE    MOUNTAIN   STREAM. 

Bathe  thy  pale  face  in  the  flood 
Which  overflows  this  crystal  fountain, 

Then  to  rouse  thy  sluggish  blood, 
Seek  its  source  far  up  the  mountain. 

Note  thou  how  the  stream  doth  sing- 
Its  soft  carol,  low  and  light, 

22 


338  THE  POETS  MINISTERS. 

To  the  jagged  rocks  that  fling 

Mildew  shadows,  black  and  blight. 
Learn  a  lesson  from  the  stream, 

Poet !  though  thy  path  may  lie 
Hid  forever  from  the  gleam 

Of  the  blue  and  sunny  sky, — 
Though  thy  way  be  steep  and  long, 

Sing  thou  still  a  cheerful  song! 

SPIRIT    OF    BEAUTY. 

Come  sister  spirits,  touch  his  eyelids  newly, 

With  that  rare  juice  whose  magic  power  it  is, 
To  give  the  rose-hue  to  those  things  which  truly 

Wear  the  sad  livery  of  ugliness. 
Oh,  dignify  the  office  of  the  meanest 

Of  all  God's  manifold  created  things; 
And  sprinkle  his  heart's  wounds  writh  the  serenest 

Waters  of  sweetness,  from  our  fabled  springs. 
Oh,  close  him  round  with  visions  of  all  rareness, 

Make  him  see  everything  with  smiling  eye; 
Let  all  his  dreams  be  unsurpassed  for  fairness, 

And  what  we  feign  out-charm  reality. 
Come,  sister  spirits,  up  and  do  your  duty; 
WThen  the  Poet  pines,  feast  his  soul  with  beauty. 

SPIRIT   OF   THE    TREES. 

Let  us  wave  our  branches  gently 

With  a  murmur  low  and  loving; 
He  will  say  we  sang  him  quaintly 

Some  old  ballad,  sweetly  moving. 
'Tis  of  all  the  ways  the  surest 

To  awake  a  poet's  fancies, 
For  he  loves  these  things  the  purest — 

Sigh  of  leaves,  and  scent  of  pansies. 
He  has  loved  us,  we  will  love  him, 

And  will  cheer  his  hour  of  sadness, 


THE  POETS  MINISTERS.  339 

Spirits,  wave  your  boughs  above  him 
To  a  measure  of  soft  gladness. 

SPIRIT    OF    LOVE. 

Ye  gentle  ministers,  ye  have  done  well, 

But  'tis  for  love  that  most  the  poet  pineth, 
And  till  I  spell  him  with  my  magic  spell, 

In  vain  for  him  earth  smiles  or  heaven  shineth. 
Behold  I  touch  his  heart,  and  there  upspring 

Blooms  to  his  cheeks,  and  flashes  to  his  eyes; 
His  scornful  lips  upon  the  instant  sing, 

And  all  his  pulses  leap  with  ecstasies. 
'Tis  love  the  poet  wants;  he  cannot  live 
Without  caressing  and  without  caress, 

Which  all  to  charity  his  fellows  give; 
But  I  will  wrap  his  soul  in  tenderness, 

And  straightway  from  his  lips  will  burst  a  song 

All  loving  hearts  shall  echo  and  prolong. 

POET. 
O  Earth,  and  Sky,  and  Flowers,  and  Streams  agushing, 

God  made  ye  beautiful  to  make  us  blest: 
O  bright-winged  Songsters  through  the  blue  air  rushing; 

O  murmuring  Tree-tops,  by  the  winds  carest; 
O  Waves  of  Ocean,  Ripples  of  the  River, 

O  Dew  and  Fragrance,  Sunlight,  and  Starbeam, 
O  blessed  summer-sounds  that  round  me  quiver, 
Delights  impassable  that  round  me  teem — 
Oh  all  things  beautiful  !  God  made  ye  so 
That  the  glad  hearts  of  men  might  overflow  ! 

O  Soul  within  me,  whose  wings  sweep  a  lyre — 

God  gave  thee  song  that  thou  might'st  give  him  praise; 

O  Heart  that  glows  with  the  Promethean  fire, 
O  Spirit  whose  fine  chords  some  influence  plays: 

O  all  sweet  thoughts  and  beautiful  emotions, 
O  smiles  and  tears,  and  trembling  and  delight, 


340        S UNSET  AT  MOUTH  OF  COL UMBIA  PJ VER. 

Have  ye  not  all  part  in  the  soul's  devotions, 
To  help  it  swell  its  anthem's  happy  height  ? 
Spirit  of  Love,  of  God,  of  inspiration, 
The  poet's  glad  heart  bursts  in  acclamation  ! 

CHORUS    OF   SPIRITS. 

Ring  every  flower-bell  on  the  wind, 

And  let  each  insect  louder  sing; 
Let  elfin  "  joy  be  unconfined;" 

And  let  the  laughing  fairies  bring 
A  wreath  enchanted,  and  to  bind 

Upon  the  Poet's  worthy  brow 
Heartsease  and  laurel,  and  a  kind 

Of  valley  lily,  white  as  snow; 
And  fresh  May-roses,  branching  long — 

Braid  all  these  in  a  garland  gay, 
To  crown  the  Poet  for  his  song, 

Sung  in  our  haunts  this  summer  day  ! 


SUNSET  AT  THE  MOUTH  OF  THE  COLUMBIA. 

There  sinks  the  sun;  like  cavalier  of  old, 

Servant  of  crafty  Spain, 
He  flaunts  his  banner,  barred  with  blood  and  gold, 

Wide  o'er  the  western  main, 
A  thousand  spear  heads  glint  beyond  the  trees 

In  columns  bright  and  long : 
While  kindling  fancy  hears  upon  the  breeze 

The  swell  and  shout  of  song. 

And  yet,  not  here  Spain's  gay,  adventurous  host, 

Dipped  sword  or  planted  cross; 
The  treasures  guarded  by  this  rock-bound  coast, 

Counted  them  gain  nor  loss. 
The  blue  Columbia,  sired  by  the  eternal  hills, 


SUNSET  AT  MOUTH  OF  COLUMBIA  RIVER.        341 

And  wedded  with  the  sea; 

O'er  golden  sands,  tithes  from  a  thousand  rills, 
Boiled  in  lone  majesty — 

Through  deep  ravine,  through  burning,  barren  plain, 

Through  wild  and  rocky  strait, 
Through  forest  dark,  and  mountain  rent  in  twain, 

Toward  the  sunset  gate. 
"While  curious  eyes,  keen  with  the  lust  of  gold, 

Caught  not  the  informing  gleam; 
These  mighty  breakers  age  on  age  have  rolled 

To  meet  this  mighty  stream. 

Age  after  age  these  noble  hills  have  kept, 

The  same  majestic  lines: 
Age  after  age  the  horizon's  edge  been  swept 

By  fringe  of  pointed  pines. 
Summers  and  Winters  circling  came  and  went, 

Bringing  no  change  of  scene; 
Unresting,  and  unhasting,  and  unspent, 

iDvvelt  nature  here  serene. 

Till  God's  own  time  to  plant  of  Freedom's  seed, 

In  this  selected  soil; 
Denied  forever  unto  blood  and  greed; 

But  blest  to  honest  toil. 
There  sinks  the  sun.     Gay  Cavalier!  no  more 

His  banners  trail  the  sea, 
And  all  his  legions  shining  on  the  shore 

Fade  into  mystery. 

The  swelling  tide  laps  on  the  shingly  beach, 

Like  any  starving  thing; 
And  hungry  breakers,  white  with  wrath,  upreach, 

In  vain  clamoring. 
The  shadows  fall;  just  level  with  mine  eye 

Sweet  Hesper  stands  and  shines, 


342  THE  PASSING  OF  THE  YEAR. 

And  shines  beneath  an  arc  of  golden  sky, 
Pinked  round  with  pointed  pines. 

A  noble  scene!  all  breadth,  deep  tone  and  power, 

Suggesting  glorious  themes; 
Shaming  the  idler  who  would  fill  the  hour 

With  unsubstantial  dreams. 
Be  mine  the  dreams  prophetic,  shadowing  forth 

The  things  that  yet  shall  be, 
"When  through  this  gate  the  treasures  of  the  North 

Flow  outward  to  the  sea. 


THE  PASSING  OF  THE  YEAR. 

Worn  and  poor, 

The  Old  Year  came  to  Eternity's  door. 
Once,  when  his  limbs  were  young  and  strong, 
From  that  shining  portal  came  he  forth, 
Led  by  the  sound  of  shout  and  song, 
To  the  festive  halls  of  jubilant  earth; — 
Now,  his  allotted  cycle  o'er, 
He  waited,  spent,  by  the  Golden  Door. 

Faint  and  far — faint  and  far, 
Surging  up  soft  between  sun  and  star, 
Strains  of  revelry  smote  his  ear; 
Musical  murmurs  from  lyre  and  lute — 
Rising  in  choruses  grand  and  clear, 
Sinking  in  cadences  almost  mute — 
Vexing  the  ear  of  him  who  sate 
Wearied  beside  the  Shining  Gate. 

Sad  and  low, 

Flowed  in  an  undertone  of  woe : 
Wailing  among  tbe  moons  it  came, 
Sobbing  in  echoes  against  the  stars; 


THE  PASSING  OF  THE  YEAR.  343 

Smothered  behind  some  comet's  flame, 
Lost  in  the  wind  of  the  war-like  Mars, 
— Mingling,  ever  and  anon, 
With  the  music's  swell  a  sigh  or  moan. 

"As  in  a  glass, 

Let  the  earth  once  before  me  pass," 
The  Old  Year  said;  and  space  untold 
Vanished,  till  nothing  came  between; 
Folded  away,  crystal  and  gold, 
Nor  azure  air  did  intervene; 
"  As  in  a  glass  "  he  saw  the  earth 
Decking  a  bier  and  waiting  a  birth. 

"You  crown  me  dead,"  the  Old  Year  said, 
"Before  my  parting  hour  is  sped: 
O  fickle,  false,  and  reckless  world! 
Time  to  Eternity  may  not  haste ; 
Not  till  the  last  Hour's  wing  is  furled 
Within  the  gate  my  reign  is  past! 

0  Earth!  O  World!  fair,  false  and  vain, 

1  grieve  not  at  my  closing  reign." 

Yet  spirit-sore 

The  dead  king  noted  a  palace  door; 
He  saw  the  gay  crowd  gather  in; 
He  scanned  the  face  of  each  passer  by; 
Snowiest  soul,  and  heart  of  sin; 
Tried  and  untried  humanity: 
Age  and  Youth,  Pleasure  and  Pain, 
Braided  at  chance  in  a  motley  skein. 

"Ill  betide 

Ye  thankless  ones!"  the  Old  Year  cried; 
"  Have  I  not  given  you  night  and  day,    „ 
Over  and  over,  score  upon  score, 
Wherein  to  live,  and  love,  and  pray, 


344  THE  PASSING  OF  THE  YEAR. 

And  suck  the  ripe  world  to  its  rotten  core  ? 

Yet  do  you  reek  if  my  reign  be  done  ? 

E're  I  pass  ye  crown  the  newer  one! 

At  ball  and  rout  ye  dance  and  shout, 

Shutting  men's  cries  of  suffering  out, 

That  startle  the  white-tressed  silences 

Musing  beside  the  fount  of  light, 

In  the  eternal  space,  to  press 

Their  roses,  each  a  nebula  bright, 

More  close  to  their  lips  serene, 

"While  ye  wear  this  unconscious  mein!" 

"  Even  so." 

The  revelers  said:     "We  '11  have  naught  of  woe. 
Why  should  we  mourn,  who  have  our  fill  ? 
Enough  that  the  hungry  wretches  cry: 
"We  from  our  plenty  cast  at  will 
Some  crumbs  to  make  their  wet  eyelids  dry: 
But  to  the  rich  the  world  is  fair — 
Why  should  we  grovel  in  tears  and  prayer?" 

In  her  innocent  bliss, 
A  fair  bride  said  with  sweet  earnestness, 
"  For  the  dead  Year  am  I  truly  sad; 
Since  in  its  happy  and  hopeful  days, 
Every  brief  hour  my  heart  was  glad, 
And  blessings  were  strewn  in  all  my  ways: 
Will  it  be  so  f orevermore  ? 
Will  the  New  Years  bring  of  love  new  store  ?" 

Youth  and  maid. 

Of  their  conscious  blushes  half  afraid, 
Shunning  each  other's  tell-tale  e}res, 
Yet  cherishing  hopes  too  fond  to  own; 
Speed  the  Old  Year  with  secret  sighs; 
And  smile  that  his  time  is  overflown; 
Shall  they  not  hear  each  other  say 
"Dear  Love!"  ere  the  New  Year  's  passed  away  ? 


THE  PASSING  OF  THE  YEAR.  345 

"  O,  haste  on! 

The  year  or  the  pleasure  is  dead  that  is  gone!" 
Boasted  the  man  of  pomp  and  power; 
"  That  which  we  hold  is  alone  the  good; 
Give  me  new  pleasures  for  every  hour, 
And  grieve  over  past  joys  ye  who  would — 
Joys  that  are  fled  are  poor,  I  wis — 
Give  me  forever  the  newest  bliss!" 

"  Wish  me  joy," 

Girl-Beauty  cried,  with  glances  coy: 
"  In  the  New  Year  a  woman  I; 
I'll  then  have  jewels  in  my  hair, 
And  such  rare  webs  as  Princes  buy 
Be  none  too  choice  for  me  to  wear: 
I'll  queen  it  as  a  beauty  should, 
And  not  be  won  before  I'm  wooed! " 

"  Poor  and  proud — poor  and  proud!" 
Sighed  a  student  in  the  motley  crowd — 
"  I  heard  her  whisper  that  aside :   • 
O  fatal  fairness,  aping  heaven 
When  earthly  most! — I'll  not  deride — 
God  knows  that  were  all  good  gifts  given 
To  me  as  lavishly  as  rain, 
I'd  bring  them  to  her  feet  again." 

"  Here  are  the  fools  we  use  for  tools; 
Bending  their  passion,  ere  it  cools, 
To  any  need,"  the  cynic  said: 
"  Lo,  I  will  give  him  gold,  and  he 
Shall  sell  me  brain  as  it  were  bread ! 
His  very  soul  I'll  hold  in  fee 
For  baubles  that  shall  buy  the  hand 
Of  the  coldest  woman  in  the  land ! " 


346  THE  PASSING  OF  THE  YEAR. 

Spirit  sore, 

The  Old  Year  cared  to  see  no  more; 
While,  as  he  turned,  he  heard  a  moan — 
Frosty  and  keen  was  the  wintry  night — 
Prone  on  the  marble  paving-stone, 
Unwatched,  unwept,  a  piteous  sight, 
Starved  and  dying  a  poor  wretch  lay; 
Through  the  blast  he  heard  him  gasping  say 

"O,  Old  Year! 

From  sightless  eyes  you  force  this  tear; 
Sorrows  you've  heaped  upon  my  head, 
Losses  you've  gathered  to  drive  me.  wild, 
All  that  I  lived  for,  loved,  are  dead,— 
Brother  and  sister,  wife  and  child, 
I,  too,  am  perishing  as  well; 
I  shall  share  the  toll  of  your  passing  bell!" 

Grieved,  and  sad, 

For  the  sins  and  woes  the  Human  had, 
The  Old  Year  strove  to  avert  his  eyes; 
But  fly  or  turn  wherever  he  would, 
On  his  vexed  ear  smote  the  mingled  cries 
Of  revel  and  new-made  widowhood — 
Of  grief  that  would  not  be  comforted 
With  the  loved  and  beautiful  lying  dead. 

Evermore,  every  hour, 
Rising  from  hovel,  hall  and  tower, 
Swelling  the  strain  of  discontent; 
Gurgled  the  hopeless  prayer  for  alms, 
Rung  out  the  wild  oath  impotent; 
Echoed  by  some  brief  walls  of  calms, 
Straining  the  listener's  shrinking  ears, 
Like  silence  when  thunderbolts  are  near. 


THE  PASSING  OF  THE  YEAR.  347 

Across  that  calm,  like  gales  of  balm, 
Some  low,  sweet  household  voices  came; 
Thrilling,  like  flute-notes  straying  out 
From  land  to  sea,  some  stormy  night, 
The  ear  that  listens  for  the  shout 
Of  drowning  boatmen  lost  to  sight — 
And  died  away,  again  so  soon 
The  pulseless  air  seemed  fallen  in  a  swoon. 

Once  pure  and  clear, 
Clarion  strains  fell  on  his  ear: 
The  preacher  shook  the  soulless  creeds, 
And  pierced  men's  hearts  with  arrowy  words, 
Yet  failed  to  stir  them  to  good  deeds : 
Their  new-fledged  thoughts,  like  July  birds, 
Soared  on  the  air  and  glanced  away, 
Before  the  eloquent  voice  could  stay. 

"  'Tis  very  sad  the  man  is  mad," 
The  men  and  women  gaily  said; 
As  they,  laughing,  thread  their  homeward  road, 
Talking  of  other  holidays; 
Of  last  year,  how  it  rained  or  snowed; 
Who  went  abroad,  who  wed  a  blaze 
Of  diamonds  with  his  shoddy  bride, 
On  certain  days — and  who  had  died. 

"  Would  I  were  dead, 
And  vexed  no  more,"  the  Old  Year  said: 
"In  vain  may  the  preacher  pray  and  warn; 
The  tinkling  cymbals  in  your  ears 
Turn  every  gracious  word  to  scorn; 
Ye  care  not  for  the  orphan's  tears; 
Your  sides  are  fed,  and  your  bodies  clad 
Is  there  anything  heaven  itself  could  add?" 


348  THE  PASSING  OF  THE  YEAR. 

And  then  he  sighed,  as  one  who  died, 
With  a  great  wish  unsatisfied; 
Around  him  like  a  wintry  sea, 
Whose  waves  were  nations,  surged  the  world, 
Stormy,  unstable,  constantly 
Upheaved  to  be  again  down-hurled; 
Here  struggled  some  for  freedom;  here 
Oppression  rode  in  the  high  career. 

In  hot  debate 

Men  struggled,  while  the  hours  waxed  late; 
Contending  with  the  watchful  zeal 
Of  gladiators,  trained  to  die; 
Yet  not  for  life,  nor  country's  weal, 
But  that  their  names  might  hang  on  high 
As  men  who  loved  themselves,  indeed, 
And  robbed  the  State  to  satisfy  their  need! 

Heads  of  snow,  and  eyes  aglow 
With  fires  that  youth  might  blush  to  know; 
And  brows  whose  youthful  fairness  shamed 
The  desperate  thoughts  that  strove  within; 
While  each  his  cause  exulting  named 
As  purest  that  the  world  had  seen: 
All  names  they  had  to  tickle  honest  ears, 
Reform,  and  Rights,  and  sweet  Philanthropy's  cares. 

"Well-a-day!  Well-a-day!" 
The  Old  Year  strove  to  put  away 
Sight  and  sound  of  the  reckless  earth; 
But  soft!  from  out  a  cottage  door, 
Sweet  strains  of  neither  grief  nor  mirth, 
Upon  his  dying  ear  did  pour; 
"  Give  us,  O  God,"  the  singers  said, 
As  good  a  year  as  this  one  dead !" 


THE  PASSING  OF  THE  YEAR.  349 

Pealing  loud  from  sod  to  cloud, 
Earth's  bell's  rang  out  in  a  chorus  proud; 
Great  waves  of  music  shook  the  air 
From  organs  pulsing  with  the  sound; 
Hushed  was  the  voice  of  sob  and  prayer, 
As  time  touched  the  eternal  bound : 
To  the  dead  monarch  earth  was  dimmed, 
But  the  golden  portals  brighter  beamed. 

Sad  no  more, 

The  Old  Year  reached  the  golden  door, 
Just  as  the  hours  with  crystal  clang 
Aside  the  shining  portals  bent 
And  murmuring  'mong  the  spheres  there  rang 
The  chorus  of  earth's  acknowledgment: 
One  had  passed  out  at  the  golden  door, 
And  one  had  gone  in  f orevermore ! 


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